


Of Ill-Repute

by MindfulWrath



Series: Coyote Summer [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Western, Biphobia, Casual misogyny, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Racism, Wild West AU, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year has passed since the string of murders that tested Sheriff Strife's mettle, and although no further murders have occurred, crime is nevertheless on the rise--as are the vicious rumors surrounding Strife's past and the quality of his character. Now, in the midst of turmoil, a new candidate for sheriff arises, and a would-be deputy is making things all the more difficult. . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shot

Of all the ways to start a morning, having a gun pointed between his eyes was Strife's least favorite.

"Son," he said, hooking his thumbs through his belt. "I know you ain't gonna shoot me, so you may as well put it down."

"You don't know a damn thing!" The young man gripped his own wrist. It did little to steady his aim.

"I know you ain't never shot nobody before," Strife told him. "And I know you ain't gonna start with me."

The man's eyes darted. There was something of a crowd gathered, although most of them were watching from indoors. The windows of all the surrounding buildings were opaque with faces.

"You don't know that," he said. "You don't _know_ that!"

Strife snorted. "You think I ain't never had a gun pointed at me before? It happens often enough, a person learns to know when the man behind it's serious. Put it down, son. Don't make me embarrass you."

"Shut up! Goddamn sonnuva bitch lawman—"

"Just  _Sheriff's_ fine."

"Shut up!"

Strife sighed and tipped his hat back with one finger. "You got a name, son?"

"Ain't none of your business!"

"Sure, but seein' as you ain't terrible fond of me, I thought you might like it better than me continuin' to call you  _son."_

The young man's shoulders heaved with his breathing. His eyes darted, and he licked his lips.

"Toby," he admitted, and then rallied. "And you ain't never gonna take me alive!"

"All right," said Strife, and in one fluid motion drew his gun and shot.

Toby screamed and dropped his gun, leaping away from the puff of dust at his feet. Strife had his gun back in its holster before Toby hit the ground again.

"Now see, I done told you not to make me embarrass you, and you gone and made me do it anyway," he scolded. "All you had to do was twitch your finger 'bout half an inch, and I'd be dead. Instead, your gun's in the dirt and you look like a damn fool, 'cause you gone around pointin' guns at people you wasn't gonna shoot."

Toby dove for his gun. Another shot cracked out, and he yelped, falling backwards into the dust, clutching a hand to his shoulder. Strife holstered his gun—again—and strolled over to him.

"And now you gone and made me shoot you. Idjit." Idly, he kicked Toby's gun away. "Now you gonna make me shoot you again, or you gonna come on to lock-up like you shoulda first-thing?"

"Jesus," Toby was whimpering, rolling back and forth on the ground. "Oh, Jesus, oh, hell, goddamn,  _goddamn,_ oh shit—"

Strife clicked his teeth. "Guess you ain't never been shot before, neither. Come on, I'll take you down to Doc Lalna's. Get up, come on."

He bent down and grabbed one of Toby's arms and hauled him upright. Toby screamed again. There were tears washing tracks through the dust on his cheeks. Strife adjusted his grip on Toby's biceps and started off. Toby whimpered with every step.

"Now next time you think about turnin' to a life of crime," Strife said, "you make sure you remember this, 'cause I don't wanna have to remind you. Robbin' banks is dumb enough, but damn, runnin' away on foot's gotta be the most damn fool idea anybody's ever had."

"Go t'hell," Toby gasped.

"Someday," Strife allowed. "And then you got the bright idea you was gonna point a gun at a lawman, who you wasn't even plannin' on shootin'. How in the hell'd you think this was gonna end, boy?"

"'M an  _outlaw,"_ Toby objected miserably.

"You're an idjit," Strife said. "Who in the hell told you that you was an outlaw?"

"Me."

"Toby, I known a few outlaws in my time. Most of 'em had one particular thing in common, that bein' a rope  _real_ tight around their necks."

Toby went white.

"Now, if you say you're an outlaw, well, that's fine by me, 'cause it just so happens I can get you your very own outlaw-rope 'round your neck, and a real nice place to hang it from." He peered at Toby. "You an outlaw, boy?"

"N-no," he croaked.

"I think there might be somethin' missin' from the end of that statement."

"No  _sir."_

"Good, 'cause I hate to see a young man become an outlaw."

They stepped up to a small log house with a thin porch and a sign over the door that simply read  _Doctor._ Strife knocked. A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing a stout, red-faced man with a wild shock of gray-blond hair.

"Howdy, Doc," Strife greeted him, touching the brim of his hat.

Doc Lalna looked between Strife and Toby, his expression grim.

"Consarnit, Sheriff,  _again?"_

Strife shrugged. "Folks keep on pointin' guns at me, I'm gonna keep on havin' to demonstrate what they're for."

"Weren't like that a year ago," Doc Lalna grumbled. "Time was, I could go a whole damn  _month_ without fishin' a bullet outta some poor fool."

"Well, you know how the railroad brings in the unlawful types," Strife remarked. "I'm gonna hand this idjit over to you. You bring him on down to the station when you got all the lead outta him."

He gave Toby a friendly shove, and the would-be outlaw whimpered, stumbling up to Doc Lalna's threshold. The doctor put a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder and ushered him inside.

"Maybe you better take that star offa your chest for a spell," Doc Lalna said, "'fore it goes to your head."

"Maybe you oughtta get that whiskey off your breath 'fore you stitch somebody up sideways," Strife answered.

"Fine one to talk," Lalna muttered, and closed the door on him.

* * *

 

"Heard you shot yourself another li'l squirrel," Parvis remarked.

"Hell, Parvis, you use them ears to eavesdrop on flies?"

"Naw, Sheriff, but I use 'em to listen to folk when they talk to me."

"Uh-huh. S'pose everybody just came a-runnin'." He hung up his hat by the door, and went to sit at his desk. There was paperwork scattered haphazardly over it, and a grimy shot glass weighed down a crooked stack of  _Wanted_ posters.

"Couple people did," Parvis admitted. "Funny thing, folks ain't terrible fond of your shootin' habit."

"Turps woulda shot him in a heartbeat, and damn near did," Strife said, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk. With the smooth assurance of habit, he drew out a half-empty bottle of whiskey and unscrewed the cap.

"Li'l early for that, ain't it, Sheriff?" There was an undercurrent of concern in Parvis's voice, peeking out through the mocking joviality.

"I ain't slept last night, Deputy, so no, it ain't." He filled the glass, tucked the bottle away, and slugged back the shot without so much as wincing. "And if you start preachin' at me, I'm gonna slam your head in the door."

"Ain't a preacher, Sheriff."

"All the more reason you shouldn't be preachin'."

"I ain't preachin'."

"Good, don't start." A gentle warmth had awoken in his stomach, and he sighed, leaning his elbows on his desk. "Other'n cleanin' up the rats, we got anythin' to do?"

"Only everythin'. The rail men're gettin' too big for their britches again. Startin' fights, kinda thing. The injuns have been into Kirin's cattle again. Six bottles of moonshine missin' from Ravs's place. Mayor's  _still_ ridin' our asses 'bout that fire-starter. Usual number of people want Sips's shut down. Unusual number of people want somethin' done about Doc Lalna. Them preacher men want their permits and deeds and whatnot, and a whole lotta folks are gettin' real bent outta shape about them hirin' Mexicans and Negros. That Lomadia woman's still on about somebody shootin' her pet bird. Old Man Peculier thinks he seen that Panda outlaw hidin' out at the butcher's. Oh, and there's ten more letters demandin' that you quit sheriffin' and let somebody qualified have the job."

"So the usual," said Strife, and took a swig straight from his bottle.

"Sheriff—" Parvis began, pained.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man who swaggered in with a glint of gold in his smile. He tipped his hat at Strife.

"Howdy, Sheriff," he said, then looked at Parvis. "Howdy, Parv."

Strife scowled. "The hell do  _you_ want?"

"Heard you shot some poor bastard."

"It's a goddamn epidemic," Strife grumbled to himself.

"Naw, on account of you're the only one shootin' folks," the man said. He took a few clinking steps and leaned his hip on Parvis's desk. "Hell, you're comin' up on my record. From my younger and unwiser days, o'course."

"I ain't killed any of 'em," Strife said. "Puts me pretty far ahead, I'd say."

"You would say that," the man confirmed.

"Ridge, is there somethin' you wanted?" Parvis asked.

Ridge winked at him. "Oh, plenty, partner, plenty."

"He ain't your  _partner,"_ Strife snapped, bristling.

"Don't get jealous, Sheriff, there's plenty of me to go around."

Parvis put a hand over his eyes and shook his head.

"What do you  _want?"_ Strife insisted, glaring.

Ridge grinned, flashing a gold tooth. "Well, seein' as apparently things've gotten so unlawful 'round here that you've had to start shootin' folks on a monthly basis, I thought, hell, bet that Sheriff could use another deputy."

Parvis's head snapped up, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. Strife stared at Ridge, waiting for this statement to sink in.

"I s'pose you got him in your pocket, then," Strife said.

"In a manner of speakin', sure."

"I ain't never pegged you for an idjit, Ridge, but damn if you ain't provin' me wrong."

"What, you think I ain't deputy material?"

"Think I'd rather have a rattler for a deputy."

"Be awful hard to pin the star on," Ridge said. "Snakes don't take kindly to bein' pricked."

"Neither do I," Strife retorted. "Get the hell out."

"Sheriff," Parvis put in.

"Oh,  _hell,"_ Strife sighed, leaning back in his chair.  _"What,_ Parvis?"

"Ain't sayin' he's my first choice, but . . . well, we are sorta short-handed."

Strife stared at him. "You're gonna vouch for him, ain't you."

"Well, I guess."

"You're gonna vouch for this murderin', thievin', lyin', schemin', lowlife sonnuva bitch."

"Don't flatter me, Sheriff," Ridge chuckled.

"You shut up," Strife snapped, jabbing a finger at him. Ridge raised his hands affably.

"It ain't like that, Sheriff," Parvis whined.

"It damn well is, and you say one damn word about  _reformed_ and I'm gonna slap your idjit mouth clean off."

"But Sheriff," Ridge said, grinning. "I  _am_ reformed."

"I  _will_ shoot you," Strife told him.

"Nah," said Ridge, "you won't. A man gets threatened enough times, he learns when the person behind it is serious. Don't make me embarrass you, Sheriff."

Strife shot to his feet, palms planted firmly on his desk so that he wouldn't sway when his head started spinning.

"Get the hell out," he growled.

"Oh, so it's fine when  _you_ say it to a shiverin' kid, but when  _I_ say it, it's  _get the hell out."_

"Hey," Parvis interrupted, rising as well. "Y'all quit pickin' at each other. It ain't helpin'."

"I ain't pickin'," Strife said.

"No, you're just threatenin' to  _shoot_ people. Jesus, Sheriff, woulda thought you'd had enough of that for one day."

"Shut up, Parvis."

"Sheriff, we  _need_ more hands. You ain't slept, and I ain't hardly got a moment to breathe, 'cause the damn rail men are causin' trouble and we got injuns stealin' people's livestock, and everybody's startin' to think they can get away with shit 'cause  _we can't do our damn jobs._ How many bar fights this week? Four? And somebody set the mayor's house on fire last month and this goddamn mornin' some idjit kid tried to rob the damn bank. We  _need_ more lawmen in this town, or there ain't gonna be any law left."

Strife ground his teeth, then spat, "Well it sure as hell ain't gonna be  _that_ wolf bastard."

Ridge shrugged and turned away. "Fine. Just thought I'd offer, seein' as nobody else is gonna."

"Get the hell outta my station, you lyin' scum."

Obligingly, Ridge sauntered to the door and tugged it open. He paused on the threshold and spoke over his shoulder.

"Call me all the names you like, Sheriff, but at least I ain't never raped nobody."

Strife's gun was in his hand quicker than thought, and swung up to point at Ridge's head—except that Parvis had stepped into the line of fire, looking paler than death and twice as determined. Ridge's laugh echoed against the walls as the door drifted shut behind him.

"I hear that bullshit one more goddamn time," Strife swore, "I'm gonna kill the sonnuva bitch sayin' it."

"Sheriff, please stop pointin' that thing at me."

Hand shaking, Strife shoved his gun back into its holster and sank into his chair. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

"Uh. Sorry."

The floorboards creaked, and Parvis arrived at his side, resting a hand on the back of his neck.

"You're real goddamn frustratin', Sheriff, you know that?"

"Hm. S'pose you're gonna tell me why?"

Parvis leaned down and kissed him just under the ear.

"It's 'cause you're so damn pretty when you're mad."

He scowled, although heat was rising under his collar. "You're tryin' to distract me."

"Is it workin'?" He slid into Strife's lap as easy as breathing and looped his arms around Strife's neck.

"Nope," said Strife, laying his hands on Parvis's hips.

"Aw, shucks," said Parvis, and kissed him.

 


	2. Bottled Up

When Cowboy Kirin spoke, he did it like a molasses flood—slow, and too sweet, and unstoppable.

"We-yull," he said, squinting out at the milling herd of longhorn cattle, "six on 'em, as of this mornin'."

"Hm," said Strife. He was leaning against a fence-post, and definitely  _ not _ because he couldn't stand on his own without swaying. "How many you got all together?"

Kirin blinked, slowly, and turned big brown eyes on Strife.

"Don't matter," he said, "on account of I got six less'n I had a week ago."

Strife peered out at the cattle. "Looks like a good hundred to me, at least. Ain't terrible much difference between a hundred and a hundred and six."

"Is to me. Each on 'em goes f'r 'bout forty dollars." He frowned for a moment while the gears in his head ground out another slow gush of thought. "Sure you ain't a man to sneer at two hunnert an' forty dollars."

Strife let out a low whistle. "That much, huh? 'Spose that's significant. Even considerin' the four  _ thousand _ dollars you got wanderin' around out there."

The glare Kirin leveled at him could have set fire to milk.

"If you ain't gonna do nothin' 'bout it," he said, "don't see why you's even here. Don't honest see why you's sheriff at all."

"Hey," Strife said, bristling, "I ain't say nothin' about not doin' anything. 'Course I'm gonna do somethin'. Just tryin' to wrap my head around why in the hell you're so het up about all this. 'Course I'm gonna do somethin' about it."

"Sure. Like you been doin' for a week. Mighty grateful, Strife."

"That's  _ sheriff _ to you," Strife snapped.

"You ain't no sheriff," Kirin told him, "don't care what that star says."

"You got an awful strange way of dealin' with folks whose help you want."

"Ain't gotta ask a sheriff t'do his job. Guess you'd know that, if you was one."

"Well I'm the one you've got, and for your damn information, I'm gonna do my damn job  _ despite _ you bein' a jackass about it."

"Gonna shoot you some Hopis?"

"Not if I can damn well help it, no. And how in the hell you know they're Hopis?"

Kirin shrugged and turned his eyes back to his cattle. "Look like Hopis."

"You seen 'em?"

He nodded.

"Well then why in the hell you ain't do anythin' about 'em stealin' your cattle?"

"Figgered it was sheriff work. Figgered you'd better do it. Elsewise I'd get 'round to it when I get to be sheriff."

Floored, Strife stared at him.

"When you—when  _ you _ get to be sheriff?  _ When _ you get to be sheriff?"

"'S what I said."

"You're shittin' me."

"Town ain't got a sheriff. Town's gotta have a sheriff. Ain't nobody else gonna do it."

"Sure folks'll be just thrilled to have a shit-shoveler upholdin' the laws."

Kirin shrugged again. "Better'n havin' a shit tryna do it."

"Six goddamn years I been sheriff in this town," Strife growled, "two elections come and gone and not a  _ single _ idjit wanted to take it off my hands. I got my ass  _ sent _ here 'cause none of you damn fools wanted to do any sheriffin'. And now you  _ suddenly _ decide you wanna take the job? Where in the hell were you six years ago?"

"Didn't much need a sheriff then. Ain't like that now."

"Oh, ain't it. Well, I wish you the best of goddamn luck with your goddamn campaign, and I hope by the time the elections come around you learned to write your name."

Kirin pushed his hat back.

"When you ain't pretendin' to be sheriff no more," he said, "you's welcome to come shovel shit for me."

"Frankly, you cocky sonnuva bitch, I'd rather die."

He shrugged. "Could do that, too."

_ "Hell _ with you," Strife spat, and stormed away as best he could with feet that couldn't find a straight line.

* * *

 

"I'm gonna  _ kill _ that fat-lipped sonnuva bitch," Strife snapped, storming into his office.

"Well hell, Sheriff, tell us whatcha really think."

Strife stopped in his tracks and turned, slowly.

Ridge was sitting at Parvis's desk, his feet kicked up, a smile on his face. He was dangling Strife's half-empty whiskey bottle in his left hand.

"Where in the  _ hell _ is Parvis?" Strife demanded. His eyes flicked back and forth between the bottle and Ridge's face.

"He ain't here right now. Off doin' his job. Unlike some folks. Not namin' any names."

"Get the hell outta my office."

"Ain't in your office. I'm in  _ Parv's _ office, where he said I could be. Don't think he expected you back so soon."

"What in the hell are you doin' here?"

Ridge's grin got wider. "Heard tell you might want somebody dead."

Strife flushed. "I didn't mean that and you damn well know it."

"Do I, Sheriff? Well, all right, if you say so. But if ever comes a time you  _ do _ want somebody dead—"

"Only person I want dead's  _ you, _ and if you put one damn toe outta line I'm gonna have you hanged quicker'n you can spit."

"I said  _ if ever comes a time, _ didn't I?"

"Won't ever come a time."

"Sure, sure. 'Cause you wouldn't even shoot a murderer, would you."

All the blood drained from Strife's face, and his knees turned to jelly. "How in the hell—" he breathed.

"I told you before, didn't I, that deputy of yours sure gets talkative once you get him in bed?"

"You keep your goddamn hands  _ off _ him," Strife snarled, his hand straying to his gun.

Smoothly, Ridge drew his own revolver and pointed it right at the silver star over Strife's heart. He gave the whiskey bottle a jaunty swing.

"Wouldn't, if I was you, Sheriff," Ridge said. "It'll be awful hard to hang me if you're dead."

"You keep your goddamn hands off Parvis," he repeated.

"Li'l late for that, Sheriff. Say, anyone'd think you were jealous. But we ain't talkin' about Parvis. We was talkin' about you wantin' to kill somebody. So happens I find that topic interestin'."

"You gonna shoot me if I say we ain't talkin' about that?"

Ridge winked. "Might do."

"Dumbass reason to kill a man."

"Plenty fine excuse, though." He thumbed back the hammer. "I killed me six sheriffs back in the good ol' days. Might be I'm plannin' on makin' you lucky number seven."

"You'll hang if you do."

Ridge laughed. "Naw, Sheriff, I'll be deputy, 'cause Parvis'll be sheriff. He takes it in his head to hang me, he's gonna have to hang himself, too, and that'll be mighty uncomfortable."

"What kinda bullshit are you spoutin' now?"

"If you can't figure it out," Ridge said, "I ain't gonna tell you."

"What in the hell do you  _ want?" _

"Want, Sheriff? I wanna be a deputy."

"Pointin' a gun at me ain't helpin' your chances."

"Not with you, maybe. Heard tell you might not be sheriff for terrible much longer, though, so I ain't much concerned."

"You know about that idjit cowboy, then."

"Oh, everybody knows about that idjit cowboy, Sheriff, 'cept you. What  _ I _ know about that idjit cowboy is that he's about as far from an idjit as I am from a saint. What else I know is that if he takes it into his head to be sheriff, you don't stand a chance of keepin' the job."

"Bet you're just lappin' that shit up."

"You  _ would _ think that. Naw, Sheriff, I'd much rather be workin' with you than Kirin."

"And here I was, thinkin' you was gonna shoot me."

"Oh, I am, Sheriff. I'll get around to it. Meantime, though, I don't much like the idea of Kirin bein' sheriff, on account of he'll shoot me dead soon as nobody'll arrest him for it. He don't have your same sense of sportsmanship. Don't much care for technicalities and pardons, neither. Fact of the matter is, soon as he's sheriff, he's prob'ly gonna have you hanged, too, on account of you bein' a rapin' bastard."

"I swear to  _ God—" _

"Which  _ I _ know ain't true," Ridge continued, locking eyes with Strife. "Met a few rapin' bastards in my time, and I'm damn sure you ain't one of 'em. In part 'cause that bitch you let walk didn't stab you when she had the chance. I had to take a guess, I'd say somebody in town don't like you very much, and is aimin' to ruin your reputation."

Strife blinked at him. "Uh. What?"

"Sure you heard me," Ridge said. "Maybe lookin' down a barrel ain't terrible good for your concentration." He uncocked the revolver and tucked it back into its holster. "'Course, I could think of a couple other things ain't too good for your concentration, neither."

The whiskey swirled at the bottom of the bottle, catching the sunlight.

"Of all the folks I expected to come in here preachin' at me," Strife said, "you was last on the list."

"I ain't preachin', Sheriff. Just makin' an observation. Me, I like my sheriffs drunk." He gave Strife a wolfish grin. "Makes 'em ever so much more  _ agreeable." _

"You wanna keep runnin' your mouth, that's fine, but I got work to be doin'."

"Oh, sure, Sheriff. More to do than there's hours in the day. Be nice if you had somebody to help with that."

"Will you lay off? I ain't makin' you a deputy, and that's that."

"Naw, Sheriff, I don't plan on layin' off any time soon.  _ But." _ He got to his feet and strolled around Parvis's desk, then held out the bottle to Strife. "You want somebody to patch up that reputation of yours before the elections roll around, well. I ain't got much else to do. And if there's one thing I know how to do, it's get the reputation I want."

Ridge was standing too close to him, and he kept swinging the bottle and making the liquor slosh in gentle waves, and he was smiling like a chess master who'd just been challenged by a schoolboy.

"If ever I decide I wanna step up from rapist to murderer, I'll send for you," Strife said.

The lines at the corners of Ridge's eyes deepened. "Thing about murderers, Sheriff. Ain't nobody in their right mind wants to cross 'em."

"Guess that makes me crazy, huh," said Strife, and made a grab for the bottle.

Ridge lifted it out of his reach and tutted at him.

"Naw, Sheriff, I haven't quite figgered out what you are yet. 'Cause see, you let that little bitch what stabbed me walk outta here without a scratch on her. So I s'pose you didn't wanna cross her. But god  _ damn, _ Sheriff," he said, laughing, "god  _ damn _ did you ever cross me."

"So why in the hell you askin' to be my deputy, then?" Strife demanded.

Ridge rested his wrist on Strife's shoulder and tapped the bottle against his spine.

"So that when I kill you, Sheriff," he murmured, looking straight into Strife's eyes, "I'll afterwards be right smack-dab in place to take everything you ever had and  _ ruin _ it."

"That don't much increase your chances of ever bein' my deputy," Strife told him.

"Pretty soon, it won't be up to you no more." He lifted his arm from Strife's shoulder and cordially handed him the bottle. "You take care now, Sheriff. And you remember what I said about fixin' up your reputation."

Strife's hand clenched on the neck of the bottle. He had a sudden, vivid idea of bashing it over Ridge's head.

Ridge patted his cheek. "Don't go wastin' all that on my account," he said, and walked out.

Strife hurled the bottle at the closed door, and regretted it before the glass even broke.

 


	3. Seams

Strife was woken by the sound of pouring rain and the unshakeable conviction that he was not alone. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus through the fog of sleep.

Rain was dripping into the pail in the corner, making little _ping, ping, ping_ noises. Several other parts of the roof had started leaking, as well, but rather than get up and find things to catch the drips, Strife stayed sitting in his bed, peering around in the darkness.

"If anybody's got somethin' to say to me," he said, his voice rusty, "I'm listenin'."

The rain dripped inside and roared outside, and somewhere far off thunder muttered to itself.

"God dammit," Strife cursed under his breath. He shifted his weight and chewed his lips. "God _dammit."_

From the kitchen, one of the floorboards creaked. Strife was on his feet in an instant, creeping through his bedroom in practiced silence. He snagged his gun from where it hung in its holster by the door, checked that it was loaded, and snuck out into the main part of the house.

There was a single candle lit in the kitchen, and now, beneath the roar of the rain, Strife could hear quiet voices conversing.

"—should've waited," said one, a high and throaty whisper.

"I ain't terrible fond of gettin' soaked to the skin, and anyways, ain't nobody home," said the other, also whispering.

"You don't know that."

"Door creaked like a sonnuva bitch, woulda woke the dead."

"Well then maybe he's dead, too."

"Oh, get ahold of yourself, ain't nobody dead."

"'Course somebody's dead!"

"It's just bones, ain't nothin' to get spooked about."

"It ain't the bones, it's _whose."_

"You ain't been spooked up 'til now, don't see no reason to start."

"Says you. It din't turn up on _your_ doorstep."

"And I'm tellin' you, it don't _mean_ nothin'."

"Then why're we here, huh? Why we ain't just buryin' it and leavin' well enough alone?"

"'Cause when the _next_ one turns up, somebody might see it before you do. 'Sides, you want more of them things landin' on your doorstep? I'm tellin' you, he ain't gonna pin it on us, and if he does, I'll shoot him and won't nobody blame me for it."

"Holy _God,_ don't _say_ that!"

"Said I was gonna look out for you, I aim to look out for you. C'mon, we might as well get outta here, pretty damn clear he ain't home."

Strife stepped out into the kitchen, holding the gun by his side.

"Can I help y'all with somethin'?" he asked.

Illuminated by the single candle, two women jumped. One was tall and pale, the other short and dark-haired. Strife's eyebrows shot up.

"Nano?" he said.

The short one tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "So you ain't dead after all," she said.

"The hell're you doin' here? And who's this?" He gestured at the other woman.

"Lomadia," the other woman said, "um, sir."

Nano punched her in the arm. "You ain't gotta call him _sir."_

"I call everybody with a gun _sir."_

"He ain't gonna shoot nobody," Nano said, and cast a look at Strife that indicated that this was an order. Strife set the gun on the counter and sighed.

"All right now. Y'all gonna wake me up in the middle of the damn night, you better have a damn good reason. I heard somethin' about bones."

The two women shared a glance.

"I found it," Lomadia said. "Up in the hills outside town. Dug up."

Strife nodded. "Body?"

She fidgeted. "Kinda."

"Mostly bones, now," Nano said.

"Can I tell it?" Lomadia demanded, glaring at her.

"You wasn't," she pointed out.

"I was gettin' there. Don't rush me, you ain't seen it."

"I seen a whole lot worse'n bones," Nano said.

"Yeah, but _I_ ain't, so let me _tell_ it."

Nano shrugged and folded her arms. Lomadia turned back to Strife.

"I think somebody's been killt," she said.

He frowned. "Makes you say that?"

"Well, 'cause—" She bit her lip and toyed with her fingers. "'Cause it ain't got no head, and 'cause it was buried out in the hills and dug up again."

"Huh," said Strife. "Now, not that I don't appreciate the seriousness of the situation, but I am wonderin' why it is you found it necessary to wake me up in the middle of the damn night for that."

"'Cause somebody done _put_ the head on her doorstep," Nano said.

"Well _shit,"_ said Strife. "Just now?"

"Maybe an hour ago?" Lomadia guessed. "I din't know what to do, so I—I came to find you."

"So how come she's with you?" he asked, gesturing to Nano.

Lomadia flushed and looked away, muttering something.

"'Cause you got a reputation, Sheriff," Nano answered candidly. "And she was already scared."

Strife bristled. "You know good and damn well that ain't true," he snapped.

"No, I don't, and even if I did, I ain't takin' no chances," Nano said. The look on her face could have poisoned a rattlesnake. "So you gonna come look at this head or not?"

"I—well I—oh, fine, let me get some damn clothes on."

Nano grinned at him. "Don't say that too loud, or my daddy'll shoot you."

"That ain't funny," Strife growled, snatching his gun from the counter as he turned to go.

"Sure it is, Sheriff. 'Cause if you did anythin' nasty to me or any other woman in this town, _I'd_ be the one shootin' you."

"Nano," Lomadia admonished.

"Wouldn't kill him," she said. "Prob'ly."

"Golly, thanks," Strife intoned, rolling his eyes.

"Naw, Sheriff," said Nano. "You'd wish I had."

* * *

 

Strife crouched in the street, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. The skull on the doorstep was yellowed with age, but clean. The bone was smooth, unmarred. It had no teeth, nor any holes where they should have been.

It was the size of Strife's closed fist.

"You ain't tell me it was a baby," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the downpour.

"Sorry," said Lomadia, who was standing inside and holding the door open. She had not invited Strife in. Nano was back inside the homestead somewhere, bustling.

"And you ain't touched it?"

"No sir. Went out the back door when I found it."

Strife peered at the mud beneath his feet. It was far too wet to hold any footprints—even his own had been lost already.

"'Bout an hour ago, you said?"

"Hour and a half, now."

"Hm. How'd you know to come out and look?"

"I didn't put it there," Lomadia blurted.

Strife looked up at her. "I never said you did."

"I—I know. But I didn't. I swear I don't know where it came from."

Rising, he adjusted his hat.

"I believe you, miss. I'm just tryin' to figure out where it _did_ come from, and how come it ended up here."

"I dunno, sir, I—I just . . . I thought I heard somethin'. Stray dog scratchin' on the door or somethin'. But then I came out to look, and it was just there. And I got real scared, and I went and got Nano, and we came and got you, and that's all, sir, that's all I know."

Abruptly, the rain stopped, sweeping away across the town and into the darkness beyond. Strife watched it go.

"I guess it wasn't rainin' then," he said.

"No sir, it started just when we got to your place."

He took his hat off and poured the rain off of the brim, then settled it back on his head. Water trickled down his face and he wiped it away.

"You notice anything when you came out that first time? Anybody around, any footprints or anything? Hear anythin'? Hell, somethin' _smell_ funny?"

"Nothin', sir."

"Well, sh—uh, darn. All right, what about the rest of the body, when'd you find that?"

Lomadia glanced away, fiddling with her fingertips again.

"Uh, about that, um. I—I meant to say, but . . . but it weren't the body."

He frowned. "How d'you mean?"

"Well, see, I ain't get too good of a look at the skull, first thing, on account of I was so scared and I just kinda ran. But—but I did get a look at that skeleton up in them hills, 'cause I thought—well 'cause I wasn't so scared. A-and, sir, what I mean to say is. . . ."

She took a deep breath. Strife waited.

"What I mean to say, sir, is that the skeleton I found weren't no baby."

He stared at her.

"Oh," he said. "You sure about that?"

"Real sure, sir."

He sighed and scratched his jaw. "All right, then. Come mornin', I think I'd best bring that thing—" he gestured to the skull— "to Doc Lalna, and then you can show me and Parvis where that skeleton's at, and we'll have a look at it." He paused, frowning. "Hey, how come you was up in them hills, anyway? Awful long way from town."

"Supplies," she blurted. "Uh, sir. For that old Prospector lives out there. On account of Mr. Xephos is off on—well, whatever kinda business Mr. Xephos does—and he asked me to check up on him. The—the old Prospector, I mean. Just brought him some food, clothes, kind of thing. New boots. Sir."

Strife narrowed his eyes and watched her fidget.

"Mighty kind of you, I'm sure," he remarked at last. He pulled a sopping wet kerchief from his pocket and picked up the skull with it. The jaws did not open, and Strife turned the skull over, peering inside.

"Huh," he said.

"What?" Lomadia asked, sounding sick to her stomach.

"Somebody done wired the jaw on," Strife said. He wasn't feeling particularly well, either. He folded the kerchief over the skull, covering it completely.

"Why in the hell would somebody do _that?"_

"That," Strife said grimly, "is a damn good question."

* * *

 

Reverently, Strife unfolded the kerchief. Doc Lalna put a hand over his mouth and bowed his head.

"Oh, God," he whispered.

"Turned up on Miss Lomadia's doorstep last night, 'bout half past two," Strife told him. He was very carefully _not_ looking at the thing on the desk.

"Why? A-and oh God, _whose?"_

"We don't know," he said. "Was hopin' you might be able to shed some light. Least tell us how old it was. And how long it's been . . . dead."

Doc Lalna shook his head and reached under his desk.

"You ain't gonna yell at me if I steady my nerves a li'l first, are you?" he asked, pulling out a bottle of rye.

"Hell, no, Doc, I'm just gonna ask you to share."

Doc Lalna nodded, retrieved two tumblers from the cabinet at the far side of the room, and poured them each three fingers of amber liquor. He raised his glass to Strife.

"One day this's gonna kill us," he said.

"I won't mind," Strife answered, and clinked the glasses together.

With the burn of alcohol prickling his sinuses, Strife found it easier to look at the skull.

"Can't've been more'n a few weeks old," he remarked.

Doc Lalna shook his head. "Naw, Sheriff, it was almost three months. Y'can tell by the sutures, see?" He pointed to one of the thick, dark seams on the skull. "And the—oh, _Jesus."_

He had picked up the skull and turned it around, then set it down again and walked off to the corner of the room, his hand back over his mouth.

"What?" said Strife.

"It's—God, Sheriff, somebody—somebody done—"

"Spit it out, man."

Doc Lalna took a deep breath, darted back to his desk, and took another pull off the rye. Then he was back in the corner, facing away.

"Somebody," he coughed, "somebody done busted that baby's head open and glued it back t'gether."

Strife put a hand over his eyes, a deep sickness coiling around his stomach.

"Jesus _God,"_ he whispered. "Was it . . . I mean, was it . . . _dead,_ already?"

Lalna shook his head. "Dunno, Sheriff. Ain't got the stomach to look just now."

For a time, there was silence.

"It uh. . . ." Strife said at last, and cleared his throat. "It's got its jaw wired on."

"I saw," said Lalna.

"There's uh . . . there's another body. Up in the hills. Grown, apparently. Gonna go have a look at it with Parvis. Lomadia says it was dug up, and ain't got no head, neither."

Lalna half turned, then shook his head and kept his back to the desk.

"Put your cloth back over that thing, I can't look at it."

Strife obliged him. "It's done."

On unsteady feet, Lalna returned to his desk and lowered himself into his chair.

"So you got," he concluded, "a body with no head, and a head with no body."

"Seems that way."

"And one of 'em's a baby."

"Sure is."

"Well _shit,_ Sheriff."

"Couldn't've said it better myself."

Doc Lalna sighed and put his head in his hands.

"How long you figure the, uh, kid's been dead?" Strife asked.

"To get down to a skeleton? Eight years, at least. Ain't nothin' been chewin' on it, so it must've been buried."

The sickness in Strife's stomach cranked up a notch. "But there ain't no dirt on it."

"Oh _God,_ Sheriff, don't do this with me in here."

"So either somebody cleaned it," Strife went on, heedless, "or somebody's been _keepin'_ it clean."

 _"Jesus Christ,"_ Lalna whispered to himself.

"They done wired the jaw on and glued the skull together, you don't think a person—"

 _"I don't think I wanna hear it!"_ he interrupted, glaring at Strife.

"You seen worse, don't tell me you ain't seen worse."

"No, Sheriff, I _ain't_ seen worse'n somebody—somebody makin' goddamn _art_ out of a dead child! It ain't _natural,_ it ain't _sane!"_

Strife sat back, reeling himself in.

"Well," he said, "can't argue with you on that."

 


	4. Bare Bones

Dumb Bastard stopped again and nibbled at a stubby acacia bush by the side of the track. Strife hauled on the reins and kicked the horse with both heels. Dumb Bastard flicked her ears back and went right on nibbling.

"Parvis," Strife snapped, "you sure this damn thing ain't a mule?"

"I told you her name, didn't I?" Parvis asked, reining in his own horse. She nickered, dancing in place, and he patted her neck.

"Where'd you even  _ get _ her?"

"Rented her from them stable girls," Parvis answered. "Think she used to be somebody's and ain't no more. C'mon, just give her a good yank, she'll come along."

"Can't imagine," Strife grumbled, jerking the reins, "why anybody'd give her up."

Dumb Bastard lifted her head, rolled her eyes at Strife, and plodded on after Parvis.

"See? Told you," said Parvis, grinning.

"How come  _ you _ get the sweet li'l palomino girl and I get stuck with this mule-lookin' terror named  _ Dumb Bastard?" _

"'Cause you made me go get 'em, Sheriff," Parvis answered. "And I figgered you two deserved each other."

Dumb Bastard farted so loudly it made her sides shiver.

"Don't  _ you _ start," Strife snapped at the horse. She flicked her ears back at him and meandered over to another patch of acacia.

Parvis laughed. Strife glared at him, hauling the horse back onto the path again.

"I swear to God, Parvis, I'm gonna kill this damn horse, and if you don't quit laughin' at me, you're goin' next."

"It ain't far now, Sheriff. You made it the past four hours, you'll make it one more. And you can take Cow on the way back. She's a li'l nervy, but real easy to ride."

Strife raised an eyebrow. "That horse is called  _ Cow?" _

"Told you that when I brought 'em over, didn't I?"

"Sorry, Parvis, I was a li'l distracted by this ornery nag here slippin' her saddle." She'd held her breath so that when Strife had cinched up the saddle, it hadn't been tight enough. He'd tipped right over as soon as he'd gotten on, and then the horse had stepped on him. He still ached from the experience.

Parvis laughed again. "Tell you what, though, that horse ain't stupid."

"You're right, Parvis, I think she might even be smarter'n you."

Parvis glared over his shoulder. "That ain't fair."

"Neither is saddlin' me with the horse named  _ Dumb Bastard." _

"You just ain't gonna get over that, are you."

"Who names their damn horse  _ Dumb Bastard?" _

"Somebody who knew her, 'parently."

"You was born like this, wasn't you," Strife said to the horse, leaning over her neck. She tossed her head and farted again. "Wouldn't be carryin' on like that if you didn't eat crud off the side of the road."

"Don't tease her, Sheriff, she'll step on you again."

"I'm gonna start steerin' her by her ears if she don't get her head outta the vegetation."

"Gonna get yourself bit."

_ "You're _ gonna get yourself bit, you don't shut up."

"You'd have to catch me, first."

"Parvis, I will run your ass down."

"On  _ that _ thing? Good goddamn luck."

"Bet you two dollars she'll chase you if you run, outta pure spite."

Parvis grinned. "Gee, Sheriff, I don't know  _ anybody _ like that."

"All right, that's it. You better start runnin'."

"Ain't gonna do it."

Strife drew his gun and fired a shot into the air. Dumb Bastard twitched. Cow bolted down the path as fast as her spindly legs would carry her.

_ "That ain't fair!" _ Parvis screamed, clinging on for dear life.

"Get 'im," Strife told the horse, holstering his gun and digging in his heels.

Dumb Bastard cast a long-suffering look over her shoulder, sighed, farted, and then plodded off after Parvis.

_ "Go, _ you dumb bastard," he snarled, and kicked her again.

Dumb Bastard paused, then reared up with such sudden vigor that she threw Strife clean off.

By the time he managed to pick himself back up, wheezing, there was only a cloud of dust where the horse had been.

* * *

 

The old Prospector brought him a cup of tarry coffee and promptly sat on his own dining room table.

"Putcher feets up, there's a good'un," the Prospector said, nodding.

Strife glanced at Parvis, who was unsuccessfully fighting down a grin. Setting his jaw, he put his feet up in the next chair over. The Prospector patted his boot.

"Yee, thasser wayta doot! Drinker coffee, nar, gwon." He wagged his beard at Strife. The man was mostly beard, with the notable inclusion of two beady black eyes and a huge red nose. "Hadjerself a  _ lawwwwng _ walk, dincha?"

"He sure did," Parvis put in, while Strife sipped the coffee. It was rather akin to being punched in the tongue. "Horse threw his dumb ass off after he done spooked mine for no damn reason."

The Prospector cackled, slapping his own knee. "Heh! Heh! Goddum!"

Strife carefully set the coffee down.

"Yeah,  _ anyhow," _ he said, casting a glare at Parvis. "We heard as there was a dug-up body up in these hills. We were wonderin' if you might know where it is."

The Prospector sobered. "Yee," he said. "Uppin 'em pine 'n setch." He shook his head. "Ain't goin' witcha, nohow."

"How come?" Parvis asked, leaning forward.

His scowl deepened. "Ain't goin'. Bin badness onnit. Feels it in m'water."

"Well, could you at least show us where it  _ is?" _ Strife said. He paused, frowning. "How'd you know where it is, anyway?"

"Heard a-screamin', din' I," he said. "Wennup an' founnem. Poor gel."

"Lomadia, you mean?"

He nodded. "Shooker up sommin bad."

"Why'd she go up there, anyway?"

The beady eyes fixed on him, oddly piercing. "Hashid  _ I _ know, eh? Founner."

"Wait, wait a second," Parvis interrupted, pointing at the man. "You mean she didn't come here first?"

"Naw."

"So she wasn't bringin' you no supplies."

"Naw."

"So what in the hell—" Strife began, and cut himself off. He looked at Parvis. "She knew it was here. She came  _ up _ here to look at that body."

"Naw, nossir," the Prospector interrupted. "Screamin' lika hawk, wasser. Shooker up good. Naw, nup."

"So maybe," Parvis mused, "she didn't know it was there, and she was doin' somethin'  _ else _ she didn't want a lawman knowin' about."

"Or somethin's been done to it since last she saw it," Strife said grimly.

"Oh, now you ain't gonna tell me you think she done killed somebody."

"I think the kind of person glues a li'l baby's skull back together and leaves it on somebody's doorstep is the kind of person who's gonna choose their doorstep  _ real carefully," _ Strife shot back.

_ "Baby?" _ the Prospector cried, leaping to his feet. "Were a  _ baby?" _

"Yessir," Parvis said. "Or, just the head. And we're given to understand that the body up in these hills ain't no baby, but also ain't got no head."

"Knewit," the Prospector grumbled to himself. He hobbled over to a pack that sat slumped by the door and slung it on. "In m'water. Knewit.  _ Knewit." _ And he scuttled out the door.

Parvis and Strife shared a glance.

"I think we're s'posed to follow him," Parvis postulated.

With a groan, Strife got to his feet. "Well, guess we'd better get on, then," he said, and hurried after the Prospector.

* * *

 

"I think that's it," Parvis said.

"You think? You think, Parvis? Naw, here I was, thinkin' that was some  _ other _ headless skeleton in the middle of goddamn nowhere."

Parvis looked at him. "You're spooked, ain't you."

"No. I ain't  _ spooked. _ Ain't nothin' to be spooked over."

"Sure, just the skeleton that ain't got no head and a crazy old man who won't go within a mile of it. Nothin' to be spooked over."

"Are  _ you _ spooked?"

"Me? Naw, not spooked. Not spooked at all."

In silence, they looked down at the skeleton.

"Buried awful deep," Strife remarked at last.

"Awful deep," Parvis agreed.

"Must've been a helluva lot of work, gettin' it down there."

"And diggin' it back up."

There was another silence. Around them, the stunted pines whispered, tickling each other with warped branches.

"Should prob'ly go down an' get a closer look," said Strife.

"Prob'ly," said Parvis.

"Parvis?"

"Yes, Sheriff?"

"You can keep your sweet li'l horse for the trip home on the condition you go down in that hole."

"Hell no, Sheriff."

"Parvis, you get down in that hole or I'll push you."

"All due respect, Sheriff, go on and  _ try." _

"I ain't goin' down there."

_ "I _ ain't goin' down there."

"Thought you said you wasn't spooked."

"You said  _ you _ wasn't, neither!"

"Well hell, Parvis, guess that makes me a liar, don't it."

"So you  _ are _ spooked, after all."

"Sure am, Parvis, which is why you're the one goin' in that hole."

Parvis ground his teeth, then sidled over to the grave and slid down into it amidst a rattling shower of dust.

"See anythin'?" Strife asked.

"I see a goddamn skeleton that ain't got no head," Parvis called back up. "I don't like this shit, Sheriff, that Prospector was right. Some kinda badness happened here."

"Don't you go gettin' all superstitious on me, Parvis."

Parvis crouched down next to the skeleton, keeping one hand on the wall. "Well, I tell you one thing, Sheriff," he said at last. "Somebody busted the hell outta this fella."

"Before or after they died?"

"How the hell should  _ I _ know? Just about every damn bone's broken."

"Sharp?" Strife asked.

There was a moment of silence from the grave.

"Naw, Sheriff."

Strife cursed under his breath.

"You think that means it was before?"

"I'm inclined to think so, Parvis. At least before they was buried. And I don't see much gain in beatin' the hell out of a  _ dead _ body."

"Can I get outta this hole now?"

"One last thing. Look an' see if the neck's been chopped on. Sawed, maybe."

"Don't look like it, Sheriff. Only—"

"Only what, Parvis?"

"Only there's this little dip, Sheriff, looks like a skull'd fit in it. Can I come outta this hole now?"

Strife edged over to the grave and squatted down, offering a hand to Parvis. He took it, and Strife hauled him out.

Dusting himself off, Parvis said, "I think somebody done took the head after they dug the thing up."

"I'd be inclined to agree with you, Parvis. Why don't we talk about this a long goddamn ways away from here?"

"You got it, Sheriff. Now gimme back your hand."

Strife held it out. Parvis took it.

"You spooked, Deputy?" Strife inquired, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Naw, Sheriff, you can tell by the way my hand ain't shakin' at all."

"Oh, sure, that must be my hand doin' all the shakin'."

"Must be, Sheriff. I better take the nervous horse on the way home, on account of you'll only make her worse."

"Assumin' Dumb Bastard hadn't chewed her damn self loose by now."

Parvis smiled thinly. "Naw, she pulled up real sweet an' happy when the Prospector gave her a couple sugar lumps."

"You coulda let me hope, Parvis. You  _ coulda _ let me hope."

 


	5. Benevolence

Parvis shook him awake in the gray pre-dawn hours, one hand on his shoulder and one over his mouth.

"Sheriff," he hissed, "there's somebody outside."

Strife, blinking the sleep from his eyes, took Parvis's wrist and lifted the hand from his mouth. He sat up.

"Next sonnuva bitch wakes me up in the middle of the damn night," he grumbled to himself, "is gettin' shot."

"Shut up an' listen," Parvis insisted. "Somebody's out in the horse shed with a lantern. Ain't the prospector, it's a tall fella. Why in the hell would somebody ride all damn night to get here, Sheriff?"

Strife peered at him through the half light.

"That damn skeleton's got you spooked," he concluded.

Parvis shook him again. "There's somebody _out_ there, Sheriff," he snapped.

"Heard you the first time. Fine, let's go see the fella. Go get me my gun while I get myself decent."

His jaw clenched. "I got my gun. Don't think we both need 'em."

Strife, halfway out of bed, narrowed his eyes at Parvis.

"I ain't gonna shoot nobody," he said.

"Then I don't guess you need a gun."

 _"Unless,"_ Strife added, jabbing a finger at Parvis, "somebody takes it in their head to shoot at _me."_

Parvis glanced over his shoulder, then threw his hands up in defeat.

"Fine, just hurry up."

When Strife had gotten his pants on and his gun belt strapped around his waist, the two of them snuck together out into the main part of the tiny house. The prospector had set up a little camp bed by the fireplace and was snoring away undisturbed. A faint orange light gleamed through the window from the direction of the horse shed.

The dry dirt crunched under their shoes as they crept around the house. They pulled up against the wall of the open-backed shed and looked at each other.

"On three," Strife whispered.

Parvis nodded. Strife held up three fingers and silently counted down.

The two of them whipped around the corner. The man in the horse shed screamed and dropped his lantern.

"Oh, _damn!"_ he cried, and immediately set about stomping on the flames that sprung up on the dry hay. Parvis darted across the room, yanked the blanket off of Dumb Bastard, and threw it over the fire. It smoldered for a moment, but there was no sign of the fire spreading.

The stranger pressed a delicate hand to his chest and leaned back against the wall, winded.

"Oh, goodness. I'm terrifically sorry, you startled me quite badly. Well done, young man, excellent thinking, and very quick." He clapped Parvis on the shoulder. His voice was as neat and trim as his goatee, and he spoke with the nasal tones of a New Englander.

"Who in the _hell_ are you?" Strife demanded. The man's eyes darted to the gun in Strife's hand, and he slowly raised his hands.

Parvis noticed this, and rounded on the Sheriff like a coyote in a trap.

"You put that shit away _right now!"_ he snarled, storming over to him.

"I wasn't—"

Parvis shoved him, hard, and Strife had to stumble back to keep from ending up sitting in the dust.

"What in the hell is _wrong_ with you?" Parvis demanded.

Strife stuffed the gun back into its holster. "There, you happy now? Jesus _God,_ Parvis, calm down."

Still fuming, Parvis backed down.

The stranger, his hands still raised, was looking back and forth between the two of them.

"I do hope I haven't caused any contention," he said. His tone implied that, while it may have been true that he hadn't intended to _cause_ any contention, he was in fact intrigued by the contention that _had_ occurred.

"Oh, trust me, mister, the contendin' was already goin' on _long_ before you turned up," Parvis said. He was still glaring at Strife.

"Shut up, Parvis," Strife shot back, then returned his attention to the stranger. "And I'd like a name, if you don't mind."

"Ah! Not in the least. Mr. Benevolence Xephos, at your service." He paused. "I do prefer to be referred to by my surname, however, if that's not _too_ terribly much trouble. Having shied away from my Puritanical roots, I've found that such a—an _etymologically distinctive_ name is not, perhaps, fitting for a burgeoning natural philosopher." He had a smile like a flashbulb, and it went off then. "And what might I call you two fine gentlemen?"

"Sheriff Strife," Strife said. "Just Sheriff's fine."

"Is it? An odd name. Would you mind my inquiring as to the origins of said—"

"It's on account of I'm the Sheriff," Strife interrupted.

"Ah? Ah, yes, I see, I misunderstood. Sincerest apologies."

"You ain't gotta be rude about it," Parvis said to Strife, then returned his attention to Mr. Xephos. "I'm Parvis. Sheriff's deputy."

He stuck out a hand. Mr. Xephos shook it without reservation, clapping both of his hands around Parvis's.

"A genuine pleasure!" he effused, his flashbulb smile going off again. "I would presume, from your presence and your respective states of—of _dishabille,_ that you're visiting with my most esteemed friend, Honeydew?"

Strife frowned. "The old Prospector?"

"Ah, yes, I suppose he prefers the epithet to the name in the vast majority of his acquaintances. Yes! The old Prospector. I trust he is in good health?" His face fell. "Or . . . oh dear, he _is_ in good health, isn't he?"

"Prospector's fine, Mr. Xephos," Parvis assured him. "We're here on other business. Stayed the night on account of it's a long ride back to town."

"Of course! How silly of me." He looked relieved; then his eyes gleamed he leaned conspiratorially to Parvis. "What sort of business?" he whispered.

"None of yours," said Strife.

Parvis glared at him. "Found a body up in the hills," he said to Mr. Xephos.

 _"Did_ you?" he cried, with altogether too much delight. "How fascinating! A murder, was it? I don't suppose you could be persuaded to allow me to examine the remains, only I _have_ been recently quite taken up with the idea of _forensics—_ quite a fascinating subject, you see, and only _just_ beginning to be studied in the depth it warrants, although the Chinese have been doing it for centuries and the word itself traces all the way back to the Roman Consulate—"

"You ain't lookin' at nothin'," Strife said.

Mr. Xephos deflated. "Oh. I—yes, I understand, a serious affair, of course, hardly the place for innovation to come tromping in on the elephantine feet of curiosity—"

Strife turned around and stalked out before Mr. Xephos had even finished his sentence.

* * *

 

The reunion of the Prospector and Mr. Xephos was a sight to behold. The Prospector, despite being half Mr. Xephos's height, nevertheless picked the other man up and spun him around, and the both of them gabbled excitedly to each other without, apparently, listening to a single word either one said. Then Mr. Xephos busied himself with making coffee and the Prospector raided his larder and all four men sat down to breakfast together because it seemed like the most logical thing to do.

"Ee, where'n y'been, eh?" the Prospector asked Mr. Xephos, through a mouthful of fried egg.

"Ah, New Haven, most recently," Mr. Xephos replied. "Thought I'd stop in at the old _alma mater_ while I was in the area—familial matters, you know—and show some of my research to Harry."

"Oh, eh? Howsy do?"

"Harry? He's quite well. Fighting the good fight, and all that, conquering the dragons of ignorance with the lance of knowledge, the usual. I see there's been some excitement around here lately. A _body,_ Honeydew, really?"

The Prospector's face darkened. "En't mines," he grumbled.

"Well, and thank God for that!"

"Bad bidness," said the Prospector.

"Of course it is, of course. Hardly anyone ever turns up dead from _good_ business, now do they?"

"Depends on what the business is," Strife said, stabbing a sausage with his fork.

"Ah? Well, yes, I suppose that's true, although I would postulate that any business that results in premature death would be, by its very nature, a bad one, regardless of how well said business was able to manage itself."

Strife glared at him. "Please, for the love of God, tell me you ain't always this damn _chipper."_

The Prospector cackled. Mr. Xephos looked crestfallen.

"I—well I—I do apologize most sincerely if I have in any way—"

"You gotta excuse the Sheriff, he got brought up by prickly pears and still thinks he's gotta grow his own spines to keep from gettin' et," Parvis put in.

"Is _that_ what the spines are for?" Mr. Xephos cried. "Yes, of course, it makes perfect sense—and all so well in line with Mr. Darwin's theories—everything seems to be, you know—but I do wonder if there are, or perhaps will be, certain shall-we-say _predators_ of the—what did you call it? Prickly pear?—which have or will have developed some sort of _resistance_ to the spines—"

"I wonder, Mr. Xephos, if you've somehow managed to grow a natural resistance to _stranglin'?"_ Strife inquired, his eye twitching.

"Ah, no no, you see, that isn't how it works, it isn't the organism _per se_ which—"

The Prospector patted his arm firmly.

"Oh, dear, yes, I—I see, there was a—a rather heavy implication that I was to be strangled, or, at the very least, that I am eminently _strangle-able,_ yes, sincerest apologies, I'm afraid I was rather caught up."

Strife slugged down the rest of his coffee and got to his feet.

"Think we'd best be gettin' on, Parvis," he said. "Ain't like we don't got nothin' to do."

Xephos, he could see in his peripheral vision, was blinking up at him as though he'd just noticed that Strife was in possession of a third ear.

"What a _fascinatingly_ improper turn of phrase," he remarked.

"You wanna hear _fascinatingly improper,_ I can turn a helluva lot better phrases than that," Strife shot.

Xephos's smile went off, and he was just leaning forward over the table when the Prospector slapped his arm again.

"Leevuh manna lone, eh?" he said.

"I think we should take him up to see the body 'fore we go," Parvis said.

"Go to hell, Parvis, I stick around this yammerin' fool another ten minutes all we're gonna have is another body."

"Fine, I'll take him up there myself and you can head on back to town."

_"Parvis—"_

"We don't know jack- _shit_ about that body, Sheriff, and I aim to fix that by whatever road I can. You don't like the man, _fine,_ but I ain't gonna make myself useless just 'cause you can't be civil."

Strife ground his teeth, then turned his back on the table.

"I ain't comin' lookin' for you if you don't come home," he said.

"You expectin' I won't?"

"At this point, Parvis, I don't expect much from you at all."

* * *

 

The stable girl accepted Dumb Bastard's reins from him and fed the horse a sugar cube.

"Thanks," said Strife, kneading his back with both fists. "How much I owe you . . . uh, Miss Fiona, was it?"

"Yessir," Fiona said, leading Dumb Bastard to and empty stall and beginning the long process of unsaddling her. "And you don't owe me nothin', Deputy Parvis paid for both of 'em in advance. Can't help noticin' he ain't here, though."

"Uh," said Strife, "yeah. Had a li'l more business to take care of 'fore he came home."

Fiona nodded. "Heard y'all found a body out there."

"Who told you that?" Strife demanded, bristling.

She gave him a sharp and knowing look. "Everybody knows there's a body out there, Sheriff."

"I asked who _told_ you that," he said again.

The stable door opened, and the other girl, Zoey, poked her head in.

"Everythin' all right, darlin'? Only I heard voices and—" She caught sight of Strife, and her face went stony. "Oh. Hello, Sheriff."

He tipped his hat. "Howdy, ma'am. I was just askin' Miss Fiona here if she might know anythin' about the uh—"

"The body y'all found up in them hills?" Zoey filled in.

"Well sh—uh, shoot, how in the hell do _you_ know about it?"

"Everybody knows about it, Sheriff," Zoey said. She crossed the stables and placed herself between Strife and Fiona. "Hard kind of a thing to miss."

"I even said so," Fiona commented.

"Who was we talkin' with earlier today, wantin' to know where the Sheriff'd gone?" Zoey asked over her shoulder. Her eyes stayed fixed on Strife.

Fiona sucked her teeth. "Think it was Miss Minty, wasn't it?"

"Coulda been. 'Course, a whole lotta folks was wonderin' where the Sheriff'd got off to."

"Wonderin' who was keepin' the law up while he was gone off God knows where."

"Lucky us, ain't nobody took it into their heads to take advantage of the situation," Zoey said. Her eyes were burning holes in Strife's head.

"Not even a deputy in sight to keep the peace."

"Real lucky nobody done broke it."

"Amen, darlin'."

"I _get_ it, all right?" Strife snapped. "I'm here now, anybody wants me knows where to find me. _Jesus God,"_ he added under his breath.

"Oh, I don't reckon anybody _wants_ you, Sheriff," Fiona said. "Think a couple folks at least was hopin' you wouldn't come back."

"More'n a couple," Zoey said.

"Most folks," Fiona agreed.

"If I ain't welcome here," Strife growled, "y'all can just say so."

"You ain't welcome here," the two women said, in perfect unison.

Strife gaped at them.

"Well—well—well I . . . s'pose I'll just be goin' then."

"S'pose you will," said Fiona.

"Take care now, Sheriff," said Zoey.

At a loss, he turned and left without a further word.

 


	6. Rest for the Wicked

"Heard you wanted to see me," Strife said, sliding onto one of the bar stools. Shelves of bottles glinted in the evening light. Dust was sticking to the back of Strife's throat, and he suppressed a cough.

Minty smiled at him.

"Now who told you that, Sheriff? Reckon I'da come and found you if I had anythin' to say."

Strife grunted. His mouth was feeling _awfully_ dry. "Well, might as well get me somethin' to drink while I'm here. Pull me down one of them whiskeys, would ya?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I got an open one right here, Sheriff."

"Oh, you can pour me somethin' outta that, too, if you don't mind. I'm takin' that one—" he gestured to the wall of bottles— "home with me."

She folded her arms.

"For a rainy day," he added, and fidgeted.

Sighing, Minty shook her head and took down a bottle from a high shelf.

"It's gonna cost you, Sheriff."

"Never expected to get my drinks for free."

"I recall a certain amount of reluctance when it came to handin' over the coinage."

"Said I never _expected,_ Minty, ain't said I never _hoped."_

He fished out an appropriate number of coins and counted them out onto the bar.

"Just hang on to that for me 'til I get goin', would ya? Ain't got a place to put it just now."

Minty nodded and put the bottle under the bar, then swept the coins into her hand and secured them in the register.

"You still ain't answered me," she pointed out, setting a tumbler in front of Strife and pouring out a measure of whiskey. "Concernin' who told you I wanted your ear."

"Hm," said Strife. He slurped the whiskey down, gratified by its ignition in his chest. "Them stable girls, Fiona and Zoey."

Minty was giving him the calculating look particular to bartenders who were confronted with men who drank straight liquor without flinching. There were dollar signs flicking behind her eyes. She refilled the tumbler.

"Really? They give you any indication as to what I might have to say?"

"Didn't mention it, no," he answered. The second drink added to the bundle of warmth inside him, and he took a moment to enjoy the sensation.

"What _did_ they say?"

"Oh, whole lotta things, Minty. They weren't too pleased to see me, that much I can tell you, but they seemed awful hung-up on my havin' taken a day outta town, considerin'."

"You _did_ sorta take off without sayin' nothin'. You want another, while I got the bottle out?"

Strife rolled his neck. "Hell with it, sure. And it ain't my job to tell anybody where I'm goin' and when. That's _Parvis's_ job."

Minty refilled his glass again. "Seems like Parvis has an awful lot of jobs, lately," she remarked.

He snorted. "He'd have fewer if he actually _did_ any of 'em."

The third drink went down so smooth he hardly noticed it. He spun the tumbler between his fingers absently.

"S'pose that's why you haven't been in much lately," Minty said. "Workin' too much, I mean."

Shrugging, he said, "Been a lot to do."

"S'pose that Crooked Caber place don't take too much time outta your busy day?"

Strife flushed. "Well—well—that ain't exactly fair, Minty—"

"Thought you an' me had a good thing goin', Sheriff, and then I find out you been givin' your affections to some two-bit saloon? I'd say _that_ ain't terrible fair, neither."

"It ain't _like_ that, Minty—"

"What's that place got that I don't, hm?"

 _"Minty,"_ he whined.

She grinned. "I'm _teasin'_ you, Sheriff." Her face went stony. "Naw, but seriously, what's he got that I don't?"

"A bartender who ain't my friend," Strife answered, then pulled both lips in between his teeth.

"Oh?" said Minty, raising her eyebrows. "You been takin' some unfriendly actions?"

"Aw hell, Minty, if you're gonna interrogate me, at least pour me another drink first."

She obliged. He drank it.

"Now Sheriff, I think you'd best fess up about your moonlightin' at that saloon," Minty warned.

He made a face and sighed.

"Fact of the matter is, Minty, I figgered Ravs wouldn't start preachin' at me over . . . well, y'know . . . _you_ know."

"Couldn't even begin to guess," said Minty. "You want another?"

"Yes ma'am, thank you. It's just, y'know, Parvis gets onto me about it—drinkin', I mean—and I was a mite concerned you might follow suit."

"Sheriff, any bartender who picks up preachin' ain't gonna be a bartender much longer."

He grinned and raised his glass to her. "Amen," he said, and drank.

"I gotta go see to my other customers," Minty said, casting an eye over the bar. "Lemme top you off before I go?"

"Much obliged," he said, pushing the tumbler towards her with one finger. She put twice the standard amount of whiskey in it before moving off.

Somewhere around five minutes later, someone slid onto the stool next to Strife's. He looked over, a little bleary-eyed, to see Mr. Smith, smiling away.

"Hallo there, Sheriff," he said.

"Oh God," Strife grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Just when I thought I was gonna get away without nobody preachin' at me."

Mr. Smith's smile widened. "You must have me confused with a Mormon, suh. Ain't got nothin' against the folks, but it's them as preach about the ills of alcohol."

Strife grunted and took a long sip of his whiskey, draining it down to half of what Minty had poured out.

"Guessin' you want somethin', then."

"Me, Sheriff? _Want,_ Sheriff? Naw, I just saw me a lonely li'l figure hunched over a bar all by hisself and I thought, we-yull, what better place to do the Lord's work and provide a li'l comfort, huh?"

"Mos'ly what you're providin' is a headache," Strife said.

"You ain't done what they said you done," Mr. Smith declared, quiet and sure.

Strife stared at him. He was not smiling anymore.

"What did you just say?"

"I said you ain't done what they said you done," he repeated, his tone unchanged. "Mistuh Trott, he knows a sinner when he sees one—metaphorically speakin', o'course. You got plenty of sins a-ridin' on your shoulders, Sheriff, but not all on 'em, and not the ones you been so deleteriously accused of."

"Dele-what now?" he asked faintly. His throat had gone dry again, and his head was swimming.

Mr. Smith put a hand on his arm. "You an' me both know, Sheriff, that you ain't a good man. But you an' me both also know that you ain't near as black as you're painted. Just wanted you to know that, suh. If ever comes a time when those falshoods start sinkin' their teeth into you, just know you got a friend in me, and in Mistuh Ross and Mistuh Trott. Ever comes a time you find yourself seekin' sanctuary, well suh, I hope you know our doors is always open to you. Metaphorically speakin'."

Strife blinked at him. "I . . . thank you, Mr. Smith," he managed. Something seemed to be lodged in his throat. "I'll keep that in mind."

The well-oiled grin spread over Mr. Smith's face again, and he leaned back, folding his hands on the bar.

"Well then! Now that's all settled an' done with—"

Minty returned just then, casting a baleful eye over Mr. Smith.

"You proselytizin' again, Smithy?" she demanded, putting a fist on her hip.

Mr. Smith clapped a hand over his heart and affected a look of utmost offense.

"Oh now, Mizz Minty, I ain't never proselytized nobody nohow!"

 _"Really,_ Smithy? That the Lord's own truth?"

"Yes ma'am! Wouldn't even know where to start proselytizin'." He leaned forward, putting an elbow on the bar and grinning a thousand-watt grin. "Now lemme ask you: have you ever considered the fate of your immortal soul?"

Minty threw her head back and laughed. "Matter of fact I have, Smithy, and I've long come to terms with it."

"Better to reign in Hell, Mizz Minty?"

"I'm flattered, Smithy."

Strife watched the conversation bounce back and forth between them. He drained his glass.

"Y'all done?" he inquired. "Only I could do with a toppin' up."

Mr. Smith clapped him on the back so hard it made him cough.

"We-yull, Sheriff, why don'tcha let me buy this round? Seein' as I ain't preachin' atcha over the ills of hard liquor."

"Almost wish you would," Strife admitted. "Won't nobody preach at me over the ills of hard liquor, no matter _how_ much I tell 'em not to."

"Aw, Sheriff," Minty said fondly, pouring him another drink. "Smithy, what can I get you?"

"Oh, just a glass o' cold milk, if you don't mind, Mizz Minty," he said.

"Damn teetotaler," Strife accused.

"Might be you oughta try it sometime, Sheriff," Mr. Smith said. "All that liquor'll rot your brain, not to mention what it'll do to your moral character."

"Mr. Smith," Strife said brightly, raising his glass to him, "go on straight to Hell."

Mr. Smith grinned, and clinked his glass against Strife's.

"Sheriff," he answered, "I'll wait up for you."

* * *

 

Mr. Smith's arm was the only steady thing in a world that was spinning too fast.

"Y'r a good man, Smithy," Strife slurred, staggering along in the general direction that Mr. Smith pulled him. "F'r a preacher. F'r a—f'r a crook."

"Aw now Sheriff, I ain't never crooked nobody in my life. Wouldn't even know where to start."

Strife laughed. "Jus' like prosy—prostely—prosytizin'. Hey?"

"Yessir," said Mr. Smith, "jus' like that."

"I like you," Strife said. "Y'r a bastard, but I like you."

"Well I am just pleased as punch to hear that, Strife. May I call you Strife?"

"On'y in the event I stop bein' sheriff."

"Fine and fair, Sheriff, that's fine and fair. Left or right, here?"

"Lef'," said Strife, gesturing. "But—but—but y'r a fine fella, Smithy. F'r a crook. Damn fine fella."

"I'm awful appreciative of you not attemptin' to put any lead in me on account of my alledged crookedness."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Naw, naw, see I on'y ever shot folks as-as-as was gonna shoot me."

"Far as I recall, that young man what robbed the bank didn't have any intention of shootin' you, by your own admission."

"Anybody loads a gun's got the intention of shootin' _somebody,"_ Strife said.

They continued on in silence, Mr. Smith at a slow and measured pace, and Strife at a concerted stumble.

"Funny thing, your deputy not bein' here," Mr. Smith commented at last.

"Oh, he'll turn up," Strife said, waving a hand. "Damn fool always turns up."

"Gotta admit, Sheriff, I was a mite surprised to see you all by yourself at the bar. It's how come I decided to check up on you. Don't often see you without your deputy no more."

"Well he had some damn fool idea 'bout gettin' this yankee jackass to do half the deputyin' for him," Strife said. "So I left him to it. Damn fool."

"Oh? What kind of deputyin', if I may ask?"

"Goddamn skeleton—beggin' your pardon—damn skeleton up in the damn hills. Don't make no damn sense, neither, and I _know_ that Lomadia girl's lyin' to me. . . ." Strife frowned. "I shouldn't oughtta told you that."

"Don't you worry none, Sheriff, I can keep me a secret."

"It don't make no damn sense," Strife muttered, shaking his head. "None of it don't make no damn _sense._ Where's the rest of the damn _baby,_ 's what I wanna know, an' why take the _whole_ baby but on'y the _head_ of th'other—an' damn near everybody's lyin' to me and the rest of 'em won't talk to me anyways—it's a damn _mess,_ Smithy, don't mind tellin' you."

"Seems to me," Mr. Smith mused, "folks don't trust you. Seems that's the heart of the problem."

"Goddamn ri—sorry, goshdamn _right_ don't nobody trust me, on account of they all think I done—I done all _kind_ of things—"

"Just one kinda thing, Sheriff," Mr. Smith said. "Just one they take objection to, anyhow."

"Well—well sure, fine, _hell,_ but if I _had_ done—that—then Ryth'n woulda killt me good'n proper when sh—when—when the goshdamn chance presented isself!"

"Aw now _Sheriff,"_ Mr. Smith said, pressing a hand to his heart. "I knew you was a sinner, but I never did take you for a _confesser."_

"I could confess you things'd make your teeth curl," Strife challenged.

"You would be surprised, Sheriff," Mr. Smith said, smiling at some private joke. "You would be God damn surprised. . . ."

* * *

 

Strife woke up in the middle of the night, still half-drunk and already half-hungover, to the feeling of a hand on his arm. He began fighting his way upright, grumbling to himself.

"Third time in a goddamn row, I swear to _God_ I'm gonna—"

Something cold and hard and circular pressed into his forehead, just between his eyebrows. He froze.

"I think," Ridge said, thumbing back the hammer on his revolver with a _click,_ "that what you're gonna do is think real _careful_ -like about the next words to come outta your mouth."

Strife remained utterly still, propped up on his elbows and staring into the blind dark. His heart thundered in his ears, and his head was spinning.

"What do you want, Ridge?" he asked at last.

"I am _so_ glad you asked," Ridge purred. "Lemme ask you a question, Sheriff: you ever been stabbed? You have any _idea_ how much that shit hurts?"

Strife's heart stopped. He gulped, then croaked out, "Get the feelin' I'm gonna find out real soon."

The gold tooth gleamed in the darkness.

"Now see, I knew you weren't no idjit. Goes somethin' like this, Sheriff: bein' that your deputy ain't here, and bein' that damn near half the town saw you staggerin' home drunk as a skunk on the arm of that pretty li'l preacher boy, I figgered it was time you an' I had a li'l chat concernin' the wrong you done me by lettin' that murderous bitch walk outta here."

"Or maybe you're just gonna blow my brains out," Strife said.

"I could be brought around to that line of thinkin'," Ridge allowed. "But provided you don't make no sudden movements, you're prob'ly gonna walk away from this. _Prob'ly,_ Sheriff. Don't get cocky, now."

"You're dumber'n I thought, if you're gonna let me outta this alive," Strife said.

"Naw, Sheriff, you ain't gonna do nothin'. You ain't gonna do a goddamn thing about this. You ain't even gonna tell Parvis what I done to you."

"I seem mighty obligin' all of a sudden."

"Oh, I got my in-surance, Sheriff."

The hard, cold barrel of the gun traced along his eyebrow, over his temple, down to his lips.

"Go on an' open up, Sheriff," Ridge murmured. "Don't make me make my own hole."

Strife ground his teeth, but seeing no other options, he opened his mouth. Ridge slid the barrel of the gun in, slowly, gently. Something electric went skittering down Strife's spine.

"Oh, you _like_ that, huh?" said Ridge. He pushed the gun up, forcing Strife's head back and back and back, until he was looking at his own pillow. Strife made a sound that wasn't quite a whimper as the sparks raced back up his spine again.

"Oh, boy, you sure do," Ridge said, his voice brimming with delight. The bed shifted as he put a knee on it, and then he was straddling Strife, sitting heavy on his hips. Strife squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember that Ridge was going to kill him.

"God _damn,_ I do like my sheriffs drunk," he remarked. "Now Sheriff, before you go tellin' Parvis what I'm about to do to you, I want you to recall that taste on your tongue right just now, and I want you to think real _careful-_ like about what you do with that tongue afterwards. I want you to recall just how damn easy it was for me to get in here. I want you to think real good and hard about how much you like the shape of the back of your head. You think you can do that, Sheriff?"

 _"Nnnah,"_ said Strife. The gun was cold against his tongue, filling his mouth with the taste of blood.

"I'm gonna take that for a _yes,"_ Ridge said. He shifted his weight. Strife's body, drunk as it was, gasped. He could hear the smile in Ridge's voice when he spoke again.

"You wanna know what the _worst_ part of it all was?" he asked. He started rocking his hips back and forth, slowly, _torturously_ slow. Strife's hands clenched on the bedsheets.

"The absolute _worst_ part of it all, Sheriff, was that I was damn near convinced I was gonna have me a good night. That bitch had me half crazy over her before she took it into her head to kill me. How crazy you feelin' right now, Sheriff? How long's it been since you had a good fuckin'?"

 _A long goddamn time,_ Strife thought, before he could stop himself. _Too goddamn long, 'cause I been too goddamn scared to ask Parvis, damn me to hell. . . ._

"Been a while, huh?" Ridge inquired. Strife whimpered.

"It's gonna _be_ a goddamn while," Ridge snarled, and pain erupted in Strife's abdomen and he _screamed,_ muffled by the gun in his mouth.

Ridge laughed, and twisted the knife. Strife screamed again, twitching and gasping and fruitlessly kicking his feet. Blood was running down his side, sticking his shirt to his skin. Pain flooded through his insides, turning his abdomen into a red-hot cauldron.

"Changed my mind, Sheriff," Ridge said, leaning down over him, forcing the knife in further and further. "When I kill you, I ain't gonna shoot you. I'm gonna stick you like a pig, _over_ and _over_ and _over,_ and you're gonna die screamin'."

He ripped the knife out, and yanked the gun out from between Strife's teeth, and was gone.

Strife pressed both hands to the wound in his side—the blood was pouring out now, like water from a faucet, running through his fingers. He could breathe only in hissing gasps, and each breath sent another shock of pain through him. Groaning through gritted teeth, he rolled out of bed.

The impact with the floor hurt so badly it filled up his head with sparks and smoke, and by the time he got his wits back enough to open his eyes there was blood dripping onto the floor. He hauled himself to his feet and his head spun. He staggered to the door, his vision gone blurry and gray.

Out in the street it was quiet, but not deserted. He felt the eyes of passerby light upon him and then pass on—just the Sheriff, drunk again or still, staggering around pale and dead-looking.

Just the Sheriff, drunk again. Move along.

He had to get to Doc Lalna's. The thought clung on, even through the pain and the rising exhaustion, through the dregs of drunkenness that muddied the waters. He could only see the ground at his feet, but he had to get to Doc Lalna's. Each step sent a gush of blood running down his side, but he _had_ to get to Doc Lalna's.

He fell down in the dust and couldn't get back up, but he _had_ to get to Doc Lalna's.

Strife could feel every particle under his fingers as he tried to crawl, could taste the dirt and manure and day-old rain, could hear the determined chewing of termites in the houses nearby. His vision had gone dark. He couldn't feel his legs. He _had_ to get to Doc Lalna's.

He pulled himself half an arm's length through the dust, and then he felt nothing at all.

 


	7. By Omission

Strife awoke in a warm bed with someone holding his hand. He ached all over, and there was an insistent low-level pain in his side that throbbed with every heartbeat.

"Whuh. . . ." he mumbled, prying his eyes open.

"Oh, thank  _ God." _

"Parvis?" he asked, peering through the blurry film over his eyes.

Parvis squeezed Strife's hand in both of his. "Howdy, Sheriff," he said tearfully.

"Wh' happened?" he croaked.

Parvis took his hand off Strife's just long enough to wipe his eyes.

"Well, Sheriff, some sonnuva bitch stabbed you," he said.

Oh, yes; he remembered that part. He could still taste the metal on his tongue.

"Then, 'parently, you went lookin' for help. That li'l Scot boy, what's-his-name, he saw you lyin' in the dirt, bleedin' all over yourself, an' he started yellin' at everybody in sight to go get Doc Lalna. Doc says he saved your life, kept you from bleedin' to death while somebody ran'n got him—Doc, that is—then he brought you here to Doc's place and then took off. You been here since, gettin' well enough to wake up." He paused, biting his lip. "It's . . . been three days, Sheriff. I was startin' to . . . well. . . ."

"Get bored of sittin' around?" Strife guessed, the corner of his mouth turned up.

Parvis let his head hang and squeezed Strife's hand.

"Sure, let's say that."

Strife tried to sit up, and a bolt of pain shot through his abdomen. Parvis fussed over him like a broody hen until he stopped wincing.

"Doc says you shouldn't try and move for at least another day or two," Parvis said. "Says you got busted up pretty good in there. Had to sew up a couple tubes, he said."

"Great," Strife grumbled. "Got any water 'round here?"

"I can get you some. Doc's always got ice in his box. Figger it's hot enough it'll be water soon."

"Hm."

Parvis hesitated, then asked, "Sheriff, who done it?"

"Can't say as I recall, Parvis," Strife lied, his mouth almost too dry to speak through.

"Like hell you don't!"

"I  _ don't, _ Parvis. I was—" He broke off. That particular truth was even harder to speak than a lie.

Parvis's face went stony. "You was drunk," he filled in.

Strife sighed and rolled his eyes. "Now don't go—"

"Shut up."

Strife, startled by the venom in Parvis's voice, shut up.

"Now I've been damn lenient with you, Sheriff—too damn lenient, and I've known it—but even you gotta see now that  _ this's gotta stop. _ Now maybe havin' the liquor tear up your insides a bit at a time wasn't enough to convince you, but now somebody else has taken it into their head to tear up your insides, too, and you can't even recall who  _ done _ it? You're gonna get your damn self killed, and I ain't gonna just sit here and let you do it."

"It ain't like this happens often, Parvis."

"Well it sure as hell ain't gonna happen again!" He took a deep breath, settling himself. "While you was out, I . . . took it upon myself to try an' figger out what happened. In case you didn't—in case you wasn't up to it when you woke up."

"Parvis—"

"I ain't finished talkin', Sheriff. You left a helluva lot of blood behind you. So happens I followed it. You recall that somebody stabbed you in your own damn bed, Sheriff? 'Cause that brings me some damn concern."

"I don't—"

"I  _ ain't. Finished. Talkin'. _ On account of I figger one of two things happened, and one of 'em I like a helluva lot less than the other, and I bet you can guess what that is."

"I didn't take nobody home with me, if that's what you're all het up about," Strife said, frowning.

"Oh, so you recall  _ that, _ but you don't recall who stabbed you? Mighty convenient."

"I—no, I don't  _ recall, _ exactly, but it ain't the kind of thing I'd do."

"Took home that killer whore, though, didn't you."

"That was a  _ long  _ damn time ago, and anyhow the whole damn thing put me off whorin' in the entirety."

"That so? I s'pose you just took your own damn self home, didja?"

"I s'pose I did, Parvis."

"Only Miss Minty said that slimy red-headed preacher bastard took you home."

Strife raised a hand to his eyes and resisted the urge to slap Parvis.

"I recall he was there," he said, gritting his teeth. "Don't recall anythin'  _ exciting _ happenin', and it ain't the kind of thing a person'd forget, now is it."

"Is it, Sheriff? Seems to me gettin'  _ stabbed _ ain't the kind of thing a person'd forget, and  _ yet, _ here you are, ain't you."

"You're real caught up on this, ain't you."

"I got a damn right to be."

"Seems you might oughtta be more concerned about somebody stabbin' me than what you think I was doin' just prior."

"I'll be concerned about whatever I damn well please, Sheriff."

"You're a jealous sonnuva bitch, you know that?"

"I got a damn right to be."

"Not with the amount that wolf bastard talks about gettin' you in bed," Strife muttered to himself.

Parvis went white.

"I—I'm just gonna get you that water. Don't . . . go nowhere."

Strife tightened his hand on Parvis's, halting him as he started to get out of his chair.

"Deputy," Strife said. "You got anythin' you wanna say to me?"

"I—no, Sheriff."

"You  _ sure _ about that?"

"Yessir, Sheriff."

"You  _ damn _ sure about that?"

Parvis gulped, his eyes darting, then hung his head and sank into his chair.

"Hadn't seen him in a long time, Sheriff," he mumbled, looking at his own knees. "Thought maybe, with the pardon an' everything, he was, y'know. Like he used to be." He raised his head, rallying. "And it ain't as though you was makin' yourself available."

"To hear him tell it, you musta missed him a whole  _ helluva _ lot. And kept on missin' him up to the present day."

Parvis made a face, halfway between pain and shame. He was looking anywhere but Strife's eyes.

"Man's a career liar, Sheriff," he said. "He'd say damn near anythin' if he thought it'd get a rise outta somebody."

_ He done this to me, Parvis, _ he wanted to say, wanted to watch what happened to Parvis's expression  _ then, _ wanted to crush that sweet naivite with the weight of the truth.

He could still taste the gunmetal on his tongue, and swallowed it down.

"You wanna get me that water now, Parvis?"

Parvis nodded, and Strife let him go. He sank back into his pillows and shut his eyes. Even the brief conversation had left him exhausted.

He heard the front door open, and then low voices, conversing. Boots clicked on the floor, and Parvis coughed awkwardly.

"Uh, Sheriff, there's uh . . . there's somethin' I oughtta tell you. And—please don't be mad."

Strife pried his eyes open. Parvis was standing in the middle of the floor, turning a sweating glass of ice in his hands.

"Can't make no promises," Strife said.

Parvis made a face like someone was twisting his big toe.

"It's just—well, you was . . . out, y'know, and there was still a helluva lot to do, and I was so busy I couldn't hardly find a moment to breathe and I wasn't gettin' no sleep on account of I was scared you wasn't gonna wake up, and—"

"Get to the point, Parvis," Strife sighed.

Parvis's whole face scrunched up. "Well, I—I mean there weren't nobody else who wanted to do it, and I—I made him say it like you made me say it, and—and—and—"

The realization came down on Strife like a lead blanket.

"You deputized Ridge, din't you," he said.

"Y-yeah, Sheriff, that's what I did.  _ Please _ don't be mad."

"He's out there, ain't he. Heard you talkin'."

"Yessir, Sheriff."

"What's he want?"

Ridge came through the door grinning, and clapped Parvis on the shoulder so hard it made his whole body cant to one side.

"Wanted to check up on you, Sheriff!" Ridge said brightly. The silver star hung crooked on his chest. "Whole awful lotta people was concerned you wasn't gonna wake up. Doc fair ran through the streets yellin' it, that you was up and talkin'." His eyes glittered.

"You son of a  _ bitch," _ Strife hissed, pulling himself upright. Pain shot through his insides, but he barely noticed it through the all-consuming hatred.

Ridge's grin widened.

"Don't hurt yourself, Sheriff. Wouldn't want anythin'  _ worse _ to happen to you on my account."

"I  _ said _ you shouldn't come," Parvis mumbled, his face turned away.

"Aw, now Parvis, a deputy's  _ gotta _ look after his Sheriff. The man don't like me, that's on his own conscience. I like  _ him _ just fine."

Parvis made as though to shrug out of Ridge's grasp. Ridge tightened his hand on his shoulder.

Strife's temperature rose another ten degrees.

"You get your goddamn hands  _ off _ him," he snarled.

"That an order, Sheriff?" Ridge inquired. He was fairly glowing with satisfaction.

"It's a goddamn threat, you twisted fuck."

"I think maybe you oughtta go," Parvis said, glancing at Ridge.

"Sheriff's gonna have to get used to workin' with me, Parv, he might as well start now."

"He's half  _ dead, _ Ridge, for God's sake, leave him alone."

"Half dead's better than all dead," Ridge pointed out. He patted Parvis's shoulder, then turned on his heel and made for the door. He paused on the threshold, then said over his shoulder, "And don't you worry, Sheriff. We're gonna get the bastard who done it."

And he was gone.

Strife's anger simmered down as it ran out of fuel, and the pain started up again. He sank back into his bed, his breathing labored.

"I'm . . . real sorry, Sheriff," Parvis said softly.

"Parvis," Strife snapped, "do me a goddamn favor and fuck off."

Parvis's boots clicked on the floor, and there was a quiet  _ tunk _ when he put the glass of ice on the stand beside Strife's bed; and then, without a further word, he left.

* * *

 

The mayor came to visit him the next day. Doc Lalna had just finished changing Strife's bandages when the knock came, and a minute after that Mayor Sjin was sitting in the chair by his bed, smoothing out his moustaches and smiling to himself.

"Fancy meetin' you here," Strife said.

Sjin smiled benevolently. "Well, Sheriff, I do tend to take a personal int'rest when my citizenry take it upon themselves to start stabbin' lawmen."

"Figgered you'd be more upset that I was for the moment outta commission."

"Can't say I'm ecstatic about it, but it ain't much I can do but give my condolences.  _ So _ glad to see you've finally taken on a new deputy, though. 'Bout time, in my opinion."

Strife ground his teeth. "Seems keen," he managed.

"Funny, ain't it, an ex-outlaw takin' to the law."

"Damn hilarious."

Sjin leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, fixing Strife with a penetrating gaze.

"I don't like it," he said.

"You an' me both."

He shook his head. "I don't think you understand, Sheriff. I got my lawmen hirin' outlaws. That don't instill much confidence in the moral standards of my lawmen."

"Wasn't  _ my _ idea," Strife muttered.

"No? Maybe you should go about un-deputizing the man, in that case. Most likely that'd be the best outcome for everyone involved."

Something in the tone of his voice raised the hairs on the back of Strife's neck.

"Yeah? And what'd be the  _ worst _ outcome, in that case?"

Sjin's smile did not waver.

"Well, Sheriff, worst-case is that when elections roll around, you don't stay sheriff, and I let whoever takes your spot do as they please with you. And your deputies." His eyes were hard as iron. "And I'll tell you: Kirin ain't fond of any of you. Might be he's got plans to hang Big Dog Ridge, and pardons be damned. Might be he's got ideas about the sort of folks would hire a sheriff-killer on as a deputy."

"You ain't got a say in who's sheriff," Strife said, although he sounded uncertain even to himself.

"Don't I? Oh, well then. Forget I said anythin', Sheriff. Sure you'll be just fine."

"I don't take kindly to bein' threatened."

"Threatened, Sheriff? No, sir, no threats here. Just  _ facts, _ Sheriff. No,  _ threats _ would be somethin' like somebody, oh, say, settin' your house afire. No, sir, I know all  _ about _ threats. If I was to threaten you, Sheriff, you'd know."

Strife frowned. "You're still on about that, huh."

"Since no progress's been made," Sjin said, still smiling, "yes sir, I still am. I'd be mighty appreciative if you'd do your job, Sheriff, instead of playin' around in the woods with old bones."

"Jesus God, does  _ everybody _ know about that?"

"I'd reckon so, Sheriff."

"There was a murder,  _ sir," _ Strife said, unable to resist putting bitter emphasis on the last word. "I reckon attemptin' to bring justice to a killer warrants as much of my time as anythin' else."

"It was twelve years ago, Sheriff," Sjin pointed out, folding his hands over his stomach. "No guarantee the killer's even alive still. I'd reckon there's more immediate things as need your attention. More  _ present, _ like. Hate to take you off your pet project, Sheriff, but one li'l murder twelve years ago ain't near as pressing as half the lawbreaking goin' on now."

"And if I was to tell you that I'm gonna do as I damn well please?"

Sjin leaned over to pat his hand, then stood.

"Then I'd tell you to go ahead and start packin', Sheriff, 'cause when Kirin gets his sheriffdom, you're gonna want to get outta town  _ real _ quick. Here's hopin' you get well soon, Sheriff. If you'll excuse me, I got a town to run."

Strife lay there and watched him go, feeling sick to his stomach, riddled with rage, and absolutely unable to do anything about it.

 


	8. By Commission

Parvis laid the last paper atop the stack on Strife's bedside table.

"And that's about it," he sighed.

"Gee, Parvis, that all?" Strife asked. He prodded his porridge with his spoon, as though expecting it to get up and do tricks. "And here I was, thinkin' I was gonna be busy."

Parvis looked at the stack of paper, and then at Strife.

"There's more'n forty complaints in there," Parvis said.

Strife rolled his eyes. "I  _ know, _ Parvis. I'm bein' uppity."

"Oh," said Parvis. "Still, split three ways, it ain't  _ so _ bad—"

"Two ways, Parvis," Strife corrected.

Parvis scowled. "You said you was fit to do some sheriffn' from bed."

"I am," he confirmed. "Ridge, on the other hand, ain't fit to do any deputyin' from  _ anywhere." _

Parvis rubbed his face with both hands. "I keep tellin' you, Sheriff, we  _ need _ the hands—"

"Then why don't you go off an' deputize that yankee sonnuva bitch? Seemed keen enough."

"I asked him!" Parvis said. "I asked him if he'd like to be a deputy, and he went on for about ten minutes to get around to what summed up to a  _ hell, no." _

Strife snorted. "'Course he did. You get anythin' useful outta him before that?"

Fidgeting, Parvis said, "We really oughtta get to work on the complaints, Sheriff."

Strife slammed down his porridge on the table. The stack of papers toppled over and slid all over the floor. Parvis glared at him before getting up and collecting them.

"The mayor turn up to strong-arm you, too?" he asked.

Parvis stopped. "Too?"

Strife made a disgusted noise and folded his arms.

"'Course he did," he grumbled. "What'd he tell you, huh? Some bullshit 'bout gettin' hanged, no doubt."

_ "Hanged?" _ Parvis cried, spinning around to stare at Strife. "Hell, no, Sheriff, he just said you wasn't in any condition to go runnin' around after murderers and that I'd better keep you off it. What in the hell makes you say  _ hanged?" _

"Oh, I dunno, Parvis, maybe 'cause that's what he said to me," Strife said lightly. "Said if I continued to take an interest in our mystery bones, I wouldn't be sheriff no more and Kirin'd hang you an' me both."

Parvis gawped. He pulled himself together enough to say, "Why in the hell would. . . ?"

"Would Kirin hang us? Well, Parvis, might have somethin' to do with you deputizin' a goddamn  _ outlaw." _

"No—why in the hell would Mayor Sjin  _ care?" _ Parvis asked.

Strife pulled up short.

"Huh," he said. "S'pose he . . . wants that fire-starter caught?"

"So? Don't warrant  _ threatenin' _ you."

Strife eyed him. "You think he's got somethin' to do with this," he said.

"I'd be damn surprised if he don't," Parvis confirmed.

Strife chewed his lip.

"All right," he said eventually. "So we keep diggin', and threats be damned."

"You sure, Sheriff?"

"Yes, Parvis, I was sure soon as the bastard told me not to do it."

The corner of Parvis's mouth curled up.

"Ornery as ever, Sheriff."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about, Deputy. Now. What'd that yankee sonnuva bitch have to say 'bout our skeleton?"

Parvis went back to picking up the papers and replacing them in their stack.

"Well, you was right about the body gettin' all busted up before it got put in the ground. He said he could tell 'cause of—oh, hell, a whole damn  _ list _ of shit—"

"You believe him?"

He shrugged. "Didn't none of it sound wrong to me."

"Well, fine, we'll trust him on it. He say anythin' else?"

"More'n you'd believe, Sheriff. Main points of it bein': whoever dug the thing up took the skull with 'em, and also there was prob'ly somethin' else buried in there. Said he couldn't tell  _ too _ well on account of the rain, but there was all kind of little shapes in the mud. He was sure 'bout the skull gettin' taken recently, though."

"Makes sense enough," Strife said. "On account of there weren't no marks or nothin' on the neck bones. Awful hard to pop a person's head clean off while there's still flesh on 'em."

Parvis made a face, setting the papers back on the desk and sitting down again. "You got an awful colorful way with words, Sheriff. I ever tell you that?"

"Mighta mentioned it once or twice," Strife said. He rubbed the smile off his face. "So. Somebody got busted up real bad, maybe bad enough to kill 'em. Gets buried up in them hills along with somethin' else, no tellin' what. Years go on—Doc Lalna said at least eight, when I talked to him, for a person to get down to just bones. Somebody takes it into their head to dig the thing up an' take its head and whatever else was in there. Lomadia goes up there for some damn reason, finds it all dug up, causes a ruckus—doesn't mention it to nobody—write that down, Parvis, that's important."

Dutifully, Parvis took one of the papers and turned it over, fished a pencil out of his pocket, and scribbled down a note.

"Then," Strife continued, "couple days later, a baby's skull turns up on her doorstep. She makes up some damn fool story about not bein' able to tell it was a baby's skull, gets all confused 'bout what she saw up in the hills, gets awful adamant 'bout not havin' put the skull there—"

Parvis sucked his teeth. "Well damn, Sheriff, you don't sound mighty trustin' of the woman."

"That's 'cause she ain't done hardly anythin' but lie to me, Parvis," Strife said. "Ain't sure what's been true and what hasn't, but I'm damn sure she's got somethin' to hide. Nano's in on it, whatever it is. She's a better liar, but it's awful hard to cover for somebody who talks as much as Lomadia does, and she can't always be there to keep her on the rails."

"And how 'bout Sjin?" Parvis asked. "He's gotta know somethin'."

Strife nodded. "Think you're right on that one. Damn sure we ain't gonna get anythin' out of him."

"I can ask around, see if somebody's heard somethin'," Parvis said. "God knows the man's been mayor long enough, bound to be some kind of gossip about him, even if I ain't heard it yet."

"Parvis," Strife began, rolling an idea around the inside of his head. "How long  _ has _ Sjin been mayor?"

Parvis blew out a breath through his lips and sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.

"Well, let's see," he said. "It was somethin' like six years when I got here, so . . . eleven, maybe twelve years?"

"Twelve years," Strife said. "Now that's mighty odd, 'cause I recall he said my  _ pet murder case _ was twelve years old."

Parvis's eyes widened. "He did?"

"He did," Strife confirmed. "And now I come to think of it: how long'd this town go without a sheriff 'fore I got here? Five or so years, wasn't it?"

Parvis stared at him. "Somethin' happened," he concluded. "Somethin'  _ happened, _ twelve years ago, and now somebody's gone and dug the body up."

"Bodies, Parvis," Strife corrected.

"The baby?"

"Woulda made sense, wouldn't it? Whoever did the diggin' up took the little one with 'em. Blackmail, maybe. Easier to smuggle a smaller body."

"But  _ why?" _ Parvis asked. "Why now? Why Lomadia? Hell, why put the baby in the same grave as the other one?"

"That's what we gotta figure out," Strife said. "I ain't got much else to do but think, and Sjin can't get onto me for it if he don't know I'm doin' it."

"I can talk to some folks. Find out what happened to the last sheriff. See if some of the old timers recall anythin' that happened twelve years back."

"Parvis," Strife began, and broke off, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"What?" said Parvis.

"Just . . . be careful," Strife said, and sighed. "I'd uh . . . I'd hate to see anythin' happen to you."

"Who, me? Ain't nothin' gonna happen to me, Sheriff."

"I know, just . . . well, I just don't feel terrible  _ useful, _ laid up in bed like this, and . . . I don't like not bein' able to watch your back, 'specially with politicians runnin' around threatenin' to hang us."

Parvis, fighting back a smile, bowed his head.

"Promise I'll be careful," he said. "Anybody tries to sneak up an' hang me, I'll come runnin'."

"Good, well, you better."

There was a pause. Parvis looked over his shoulder at the closed door, then stood up, leaned over, and kissed Strife. He sat back down and took his hand again.

Strife cleared his throat and pretended he wasn't blushing.

"Dangerous game you're playin', Deputy," he mumbled.

"Not so much as you'd think, Sheriff," Parvis said.

Strife raised an eyebrow at him. Parvis looked away.

"Well, I mean, Doc Lalna knows already. He weren't terrible put out about it, just sorta . . . sighed an' shook his head an' told me so long as I wasn't im-peed-ing your recov'ry, he didn't give too many damns at all what else might be goin' on."

Strife let out a breath, casting his eyes up to the heavens.

"Well, you're damn lucky he's a godless sonnuva bitch, that's all I'll say on that."

Parvis inhaled, as though about to speak, but said nothing. Strife looked over at him.

"What?" he said.

"I—nothin', Sheriff."

"You sure?"

"Well," Parvis said, "it's just . . . I been wonderin', Sheriff, why somebody'd wanna stab you."

Strife's mouth went dry. "You still on about that?" he asked.

Parvis glared at him. "Yes I damn well am, Sheriff, and I intend to be 'til I find the bastard who done it."

Raising his free hand in surrender, Strife said, "All right, Parvis, I'll stay outta your way, then."

"You really can't remember  _ anythin'?" _ Parvis asked.

Strife bit back the sharp  _ no _ on his tongue, because it tasted like gunmetal.

"I'll think on it, Parvis," he promised. He added jovially, "And worse comes to worst, you can get me real drunk again and see if I remember then."

Parvis's face went dark. "That ain't funny," he said.

"Sorry," said Strife. "Anyhow, you'd best be gettin' on. If you see Lomadia while you're out there, go on and send her to me, tell her I got some questions."

He made a face. "She ain't gonna be real happy 'bout that, Sheriff."

"Well, tell her she can bring a friend, then. Just not Nano. I can just about handle the two of 'em separately, but there's no makin' progress when they're together."

Nodding, Parvis said, "I'll send her soon as I see her."

"'Preciate it, Parvis. Now go on outta here. I can't think with you in the room."

A wicked little smile spread over his face. "Any particular reason for that, Sheriff?" he asked. Before Strife could answer, Parvis picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles.

Strife blushed. "It's 'cause you're a goddamn nuisance, Parvis," he said.

"Oh, well then, s'pose I'll just get outta your way, then."

"Not  _ too _ far."

"I won't," he promised.

* * *

 

Lomadia crept in, holding her purse in front of her like a tiny shield. Strife smiled at her and set aside the paper he'd been pretending to examine.

"Howdy, ma'am," he said, touching his forehead with a finger. "Hope you'll forgive me for not standin' up to greet you. Somebody done me the discourtesy of stabbin' me, and now I'm havin' to pay it back in li'l discourtesies to everybody I meet. Come on in, sit down."

Her eyes darted, and she sidled over to the chair. She placed herself in it as though she expected it to bite her.

"Guessin' you heard about me gettin' my dumb self stabbed," Strife went on. "Don't figger there's much more interestin' to gossip about than the sheriff windin' up half dead."

Lomadia gulped, her fingers crimping the strap of her purse. Her eyes were wet with tears, and she was looking at everything in the room except Strife.

"Yeah," he sighed, "it was pretty bad. Got me right here," he touched the bandages over his wound and winced, "got me real good. Keep knockin' it with my elbow on accident, takin' my own damn self outta commission for a couple hours at a time."

She licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder. Strife sighed.

"All right, Lomadia," he said, as gently as he could. "If I try anythin' stupid, you whack me one good right here—" he touched the wound again— "and I ain't gonna be doin' anythin' for a good long while. Doc Lalna's just in the next room. He can't hear us talkin', but if somebody was to make a ruckus, I'm sure he'd come runnin'."

Lomadia looked at him for the first time since coming in the room. She looked horrified. Strife put a hand over his face and tried to wipe off the frustration.

"Look, what I'm tryin' to say is: you got nothin' to be scared of. All right? I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to."

After a moment, she said, "Deputy said you had some questions for me."

"And so I do. You prepared to answer 'em?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I ain't got time nor energy to beat about the bush, so I'll go on and ask: why'd you go up in the hills lookin' for them bodies?"

She froze. He watched her closely, saw her hands tighten on her purse, saw her eyes flick to the wound in his side.

"You ain't in trouble," he assured her.

"I ain't killed nobody," she croaked. "I swear to God, Sheriff, I ain't killed nobody."

"Fine, but that ain't what I asked you."

"You . . . you ain't gonna arrest me, is you?"

"Not if you ain't committed any crime."

"But—but Nano said—"

"Nano ain't here," Strife pointed out. "And Nano don't know me half as well as she thinks she does. You ain't in trouble, Lomadia. I'm just tryin' to figger out what happened to that poor bas—uh, person." He hesitated, then went out on a limb and added: "And their child."

She shook her head. "I don't know nothin'," she said.

"You musta known there was a couple bodies up in them hills, on account of you went lookin' for 'em."

"No," she said, "no, I—I didn't know they was there. Just found it like that, up there." Hurriedly, she added, "Only it ain't have no head."

"So was the rest of the child's bones there when you found 'em?"

The blood drained from her face. Her eyes darted again.

"I—I don't know what you mean, Sheriff."

"Well, you said you didn't know  _ they _ was there, but that  _ it _ ain't have no head. So which one of 'em didn't have a head, when you went an' looked?"

"No, there was only one body—only the big one—no, the baby weren't in there, no sir."

"Was it s'posed to be?" Strife asked.

Lomadia shot to her feet. Strife's hand flew to cover the wound in his side, mostly of its own accord.

"I can't talk to you," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't talk to you no more, I—I don't got nothin' else to say to you."

"Lomadia," he said. "I'm tryin' to catch the sonnuva bi—sonnuva gun what did this. I'm just askin' you to  _ help _ me."

"No, no I can't talk to you. I can't talk to you if Nano ain't here—"

"You damn well can," he snapped, "and you're damn well gonna. Two people are  _ dead, _ woman, just who in the hell do you think you're protectin'?"

Lomadia took a deep breath and screamed. Strife jumped, and his insides twinged. She knocked over the chair and ran to the door.

Doc Lalna burst in, and she toppled into his arms, sobbing, babbling incoherently. Strife stared, open-mouthed, unbelieving. Doc Lalna shot him a look that could have lit a candle at thirty paces before ushering Lomadia out into the main part of the house. He slammed the door behind him.

"Well," Strife said to himself. "Shit."

 


	9. By Implication

An hour after Lomadia's dramatic exit, Doc Lalna came back into the room.

"Just what in the hell did you say to that woman?" he asked.

Strife raised his eyebrows. "What'd she tell you I said?"

"It weren't so much a case of _sayin'_ as _doin',_ and she didn't so much _tell_ me as imply, but the kind of thing she was implyin' ain't the kind of thing _you'd_ do. Leastways not to a woman."

Strife frowned. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

Doc Lalna gave him a meaningful look.

"I seen the way you an' your deputy carry on," he said. "Had the good grace not to mention it up 'til now, but y'all do make it hard to miss."

Blushing, Strife sputtered out, "Well—well, but what's that got to do with—"

And he stopped, because a light had just lanced down from the heavens and struck him in the heart.

Here, surely, was the resolution to the vicious rumors, the slanders on his character (or at least the particular ones that were giving him such trouble); here was an end to the fearful gazes of the womenfolk and the accusing eyes of the men. And so what if one day they took it into their heads to hang him? At least it would be for something he'd actually _done._ He could almost hear it, the way they would talk about him if Doc Lalna let his pet theory slip.

 _Oh, no, the Sheriff never laid hands on a_ _ woman.  _

Yet there was an ache in his chest, a sickness in his stomach—who was he to spit upon the women he had loved, to turn them into a cruel joke, to throw them under the wheels for the sake of an alibi? They would never know, certainly, but _he_ would know, he would feel it like the loss of a limb; and every time he looked at Parvis it would be half of a lie. . . .

"Got to do with. . . ?" Doc Lalna prompted, raising his eyebrows.

"To . . . to do with . . . y'know, her carryin' on like that," he said lamely. His heart twinged, and his stomach curled, and the halfway-lie went sprinting off merrily into the world.

"Well, not terrible much, Sheriff," he said. "Just thought you might like to know that I got confidence in the quality of your character. In this one particular area, anyway," he added.

"Shucks," said Strife, his lip curling.

"Still am curious what you said to make her take off like that," Lalna mentioned, unfazed.

"She didn't wanna answer my questions regardin' her persistent mistruths," Strife said. "I pushed her, and she pushed back. Ain't nothin' more to it than that."

"Mistruths on what?" Lalna asked.

"Ain't your business," Strife said. "While you're in here, why don'tcha tell me what all you found out on that skull I gave you."

"Oh, she been lyin' about _that?_ Mighty damn suspicious, you ask me—"

"I didn't," Strife growled, "and she ain't, and you'd best mind your own damn business."

Doc Lalna looked at him for longer than was comfortable.

"Any woman carries on like that over a couple simple questions," he said, "has got somethin' to hide."

"Doc," Strife said, rankled, "of the two of us in the room, which one's the sheriff, you or me?"

He chewed his lip. "Well, you are, Sheriff, but—"

"Then quit tryin' to do my damn job and answer my damn question."

Something vicious flashed across Lalna's face, and then he sighed, casting his eyes to the ceiling.

"Well, fine, Sheriff, I was only tryin' to help. The li'l skull, huh? Lemme think. . . ."

He tapped his foot and chewed his lip. Strife fought down his mounting frustration and stayed quiet.

"Far as I can recall," Lalna said at last, "I figgered the child was 'bout three months old when he died. Was buried, at one point, got dug up and cleaned—"

"It was a male child?" Strife asked.

Lalna pulled up short.

"Can't say," he admitted. "Just uh . . . sorta assumed. Like you do, y'know."

"I don't," Strife said. _Anymore,_ he added internally.

"Right, well, like I was sayin'. Child was buried, at one point, and got dug up and cleaned off before it was all glued together again. Found some dirt on the inside, damn hard to clean out in there, 'specially the sinuses, 'cause they're so tiny—"

"I got it, Doc, you don't gotta tell me all the details. What else?"

He cleared his throat before continuing. "Whoever done the, uh, gluin' and all was mighty precise about it. Got all the li'l bits together, lined 'em up real careful. Musta used pliers or somethin' to do the wirin' of the jaw, couldn't nobody fit their fingers in there, 'cept maybe a woman with real small hands."

"Or anybody with real small hands," Strife said. "Or a child."

Lalna blinked at him. "What in the hell makes you say that?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

"'Cause kids have real small fingers, Doc," Strife explained.

"No kid woulda done this."

"You obviously ain't met the same kids I have. What else?"

He sighed again and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Ain't much else, Sheriff. If I had the rest of the bones, I might could tell you the sex of the child, whether it was all beat up like the other—"

"You heard that, huh?" Strife said. "Parvis been talkin'?"

Something else flickered across Lalna's face, too quick for Strife to pin it down. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

"Uh," he said, "well—well, y'know, me bein' in the other room an' all, can't help but overhear some things—"

"Doc," Strife said slowly. "You got somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"I—I—" Lalna stammered, and then deflated. "I been eavesdroppin', Sheriff. I didn't mean no harm by it, just . . . I was interested, that's all. Mighty interestin' case, I just wanted to know what y'all were sayin'."

"Uh-huh," said Strife. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that no more."

"'Course, Sheriff. I won't." He fidgeted, then said, "If it's fine by you, I gotta get back to work."

"Sure," said Strife. "Thanks for your, uh, help."

Lalna nodded and started for the door.

"Oh, hey, Doc," Strife called. Lalna paused. "Just outta curiosity: how long you lived in town for?"

"Oh, hell," Lalna said. He had not turned around. "Comin' up on . . . nine or so years, I think?"

"Hm," said Strife. "So you wouldn't happen to know anythin' about what caused the last sheriff to up and leave."

"No clue, Sheriff," Lalna said. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Much obliged anyway."

Lalna nodded again and took his leave.

Strife sat still for a good five minutes, staring up at the ceiling, breathing deep and regular.

"It's a goddamn epidemic," he said at last, and went back to his paperwork.

* * *

 

The next day, he requested that Parvis send Nano over. She showed up promptly and threw herself down in his bedside chair, a barely-restrained violence in her every movement.

"Mornin', Nano," Strife said. "Hope you'll forgive me for not standin' up to greet you."

"Oh, I'll forgive you for _that,"_ she said, glaring.

Strife raised his eyebrows. "Somethin' else on your mind you _don't_ intend to forgive me for?"

"Sheriff, if you're so goddamn good at readin' people, how come you ain't got any friends, huh?"

He blinked, thrown off balance. "S'pose it's 'cause I'm a lawman," he said. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd answer my questions, instead of askin' your own."

"Fine," she said, folding her arms.

"Well?" he prompted.

 _"Well_ what?"

He closed his eyes and ground his teeth, taking a deep breath.

"Well," he said, his voice strained, "is there somethin' on your mind that you don't intend to forgive me for?"

"You know damn well there is," she snapped. "And you know damn well what it is."

"Maybe I do," he said, "but I'd like you to spell it out for me anyways."

"I bet you _would_ like that," she said.

 _"Nano,"_ he growled, fists clenching on his sheets.

She leaned forward and put the tip of her finger on the wound in his side. He froze, little needles of pain pricking at his insides.

"My daddy," she said softly, her eyes bright with malice, "is standin' in the hallway with a gun, Sheriff. I decide to start screamin', he's gonna run in here and paint the damn walls with the inside of your head. So I ain't _answerin'_ your questions, Sheriff, and you don't get to tell _me_ what to do."

Strife stared at her, trying not to breathe.

"What d'you want?" he asked at last.

"Good, you keep that attitude up, I might let you walk outta here alive," she said. She was still touching her finger to the wound, applying minimal pressure but communicating a clear warning that there could, very shortly, be a lot more.

He swallowed and licked his lips.

"Everybody's threatenin' to kill me these days," he remarked.

Nano prodded the wound. Strife hissed in a breath through his teeth, wincing as pain shot through his insides.

"You don't talk unless I ask you somethin'," she said. "I been waitin' a _long_ time to get you all alone, Sheriff, and I don't intend to waste the opportunity."

Strife said nothing. His muscles had gone watery and his heart was pounding.

"Now," Nano said. "Where in the hell is Rythian?"

He took a moment to absorb this. His mind was spinning its wheels, going nowhere.

"I don't know," he said.

"Bull- _shit,"_ Nano hissed. She pushed down on the wound in his side. Strife bit his tongue, trying not to make any noise. "Where did you _put_ her, Sheriff?"

"Put—? I didn't _put_ him—her—I didn't _put_ Rythian _anywhere—"_

"Where's the goddamn _body,_ Sheriff?" Nano snarled, jabbing her finger hard into his side. He swallowed back a scream.

 _"I—didn't—kill—her,"_ he gasped. The pain was fogging his mind, twisting his insides and making his heart flutter.

"Bull-fucking- _shit,"_ Nano retorted. "She wouldn't've left and _you_ wouldn't've let her! She up an' disappears and you turn into a damn alcoholic all of a sudden? Where did you _put_ her, Sheriff? You let the vultures have her? Maybe I'll let 'em have _you,_ too, huh?"

"I swear," he said. The pain was unbearable, he was writhing with it. "I swear, I swear to _God_ I ain't killed her! I let her walk, I let her walk on out—Jesus _God,_ please, stop—"

"Wouldn't nobody blame me for killin' you," Nano hissed. "Oh, I made _damn_ sure wouldn't nobody blame me for killin' you. Ever since she came in with that bullet in her shoulder, I _knew_ you was gonna pull some shit like this, and I was damn well _ready,_ Sheriff, I was damn well _ready_ this time."

"You ask—you ask Ridge—why he stabbed me," Strife stammered.

Nano pulled back her hand, and he gasped in relief, squeezing tears from his eyes. He bowed his head and put both hands over the wound. There was a sickly warmth spreading through his insides.

"Ridge?" she asked, her voice gone very quiet.

"Yes," Strife gasped, though now that the pain had subsided, he could taste the cold barrel of Ridge's gun, as sharp on his tongue as when it had actually been there.

 _"Ridge_ done this to you," she said.

"Yes."

"Your deputy, the infamous outlaw Big Dog Ridge, done stabbed you in the side 'cause you _didn't_ kill Rythian."

"Well it sounds damn stupid when you say it like that," he said through gritted teeth. The pain wasn't subsiding. The bandages were growing damp under his hands.

 _"Damn_ stupid," Nano agreed. "So damn stupid, Sheriff, that I might just believe it."

He shuddered, swallowing down nausea.

"He'll kill me," he croaked, "he finds out I told anybody."

"You think I give one _single_ damn what happens to you?" she asked.

"You give a damn what happens to Lomadia," he said. Thinking through the pain was nigh impossible, but he went on, anyway, letting his mouth run on pure suspicion. "You give a damn what happens to Lomadia, and I know for a damn fact that Parvis thinks she's got somethin' to do with this whole business of the body in them hills. I die, he gets to be Sheriff, I can't guarantee he ain't gonna put the whole thing on her."

"Oh, and you _wouldn't?"_

"No, I wouldn't, I _won't,_ 'cause I know she ain't done it, or at least not all of it—"

"That ain't good enough, Sheriff."

 _"Fine,_ Jesus God, what _is_ good enough?"

Nano considered this, leaving Strife to wince and writhe.

"Whatever happens," she said at last, "whatever you think you know, you don't ever put her in lock-up. You don't ever arrest her, you don't ever put her on trial. _Whatever_ you wring outta her, or any other poor sonnuva bitch. That's the goddamn price of my silence, Sheriff, and if you fuck it up, you're a dead man."

He nodded, frantic.

"Fine, now would you please get Doc Lalna in here—"

"That ain't good enough," Nano said. "I want you to swear to me."

 _"I swear,"_ he gasped. "Now please—"

"You swear _what?"_ she insisted.

"I swear I won't arrest her or put her on trial or nothin'! For the love of _God—"_

Nano peeled his hands off the wound and sucked her teeth.

"Now you gone and ripped your stitches, Sheriff," she scolded. "I'd best go get the doctor, 'fore you start bleedin' on the inside, too."

"You little _bitch,"_ he hissed.

She struck him right on the wound, so hard it knocked the breath from him, so hard it lit up his whole body with pain.

"You call me that again," she growled, "and you'll be dead by mornin'."

Then she stood, and smoothed down her petticoats, and walked primly to the door.

"Doc," she called. "The sheriff's gone and ripped his stitches."

Strife let his head fall back and focused on breathing. There were hurrying footsteps, and then Doc Lalna tugged his hands away from the wound.

"That woman's a murderess waitin' to happen," Strife croaked.

Doc Lalna cut the bandages away.

"Well then I'd suggest you make yourself less objectionable to her," he recommended. "Jesus God, Sheriff, you gotta stop pissin' off women."

"Maybe you could do me a favor an' vouch for that one particular flaw in my character that ain't really there," Strife said. The pain was making him woozy, and his mouth was still running on instinct.

"You sure you want that out on the streets? Ain't nobody hanged you on the strength of that particular flaw. Might hang you on the strength of the other."

He stuck two fingers in the wound and pulled the sides apart. Strife screamed.

"Oh, it ain't that bad," Doc Lalna told him. "Don't look like anythin' inside's busted."

"Not _yet,"_ Strife muttered.

Doc Lalna wiped the blood on his fingers onto Strife's sheets.

"No, but if you keep pissin' of women, it could happen. I'm just gonna stitch you back up real quick, try not to wriggle too much. You want somethin' to bite on?"

"How 'bout your goddamn finger?"

"Hardy harr. Ain't puttin' anything of mine too near _your_ mouth."

"Don't flatter yourself," Strife growled.

Lalna laughed. "All right, deep breath—"

Compared to the rest of the pain, really, the stitching was a footnote. It was over quickly, and once he was bandaged up again, Strife managed to get his thoughts back in order.

"You got any spare rye lyin' around?" he asked Lalna.

"You really ought'nt to be drinkin' in your condition," Lalna said.

"It hurts like hell, Doc, I'm only askin' a couple sips to take the edge off."

Lalna grumbled something to himself, but got up and shuffled off anyway. He came back with his bottle of rye whiskey and a couple of glasses.

"If you're well enough for it," he said, pouring for both of them, "then so damn well am I."

"Here's hopin' you don't have to stitch me up again any time soon," Strife said.

"I always hope that, Sheriff," Lalna said, and clinked their glasses together.

On the bright side, it did, eventually, stop hurting.

 


	10. By Any Means Necessary

It rained all afternoon the next day. Strife could vaguely recall that Parvis had come by in the evening. He couldn't recall what had actually _happened,_ but he remembered feeling a certain amount of guilt.

Most of what he was feeling now was misery.

He'd been too sick to eat all day, and even drinking water was libel to make him heave. Now, with Parvis in the chair by his bed, he was doing his best to pretend that he _wasn't_ so hungover he couldn't see straight.

"Finally did get to the bottom of who was stealin' all Ravs's stock," Parvis was saying. "Somebody's been payin' the li'l Scot boy to sneak it out to 'em."

"Hell," Strife said. "S'pose you arrested him already?"

"Naw, Sheriff, on account of there ain't a deficit in Ravs's register. Scot boy says he's been stealin' coin right back from whoever's payin' him. They ain't gonna report him 'cause they know we'll lock 'em up, and he ain't gonna report them 'cause he's makin' a profit."

"It's the preachers," Strife said. He rubbed his forehead, trying to press the headache back inside, since it was climbing out all over his face.

"You think? How come?"

"Who else 'round here's got a surplus of coin an' a deficit of drink? Plus they already done ran one con with the Scot boy, don't s'pose they'd hesitate to call him up again. Besides, anybody else workin' with the little bastard woulda kicked him to hell and back the second any of their hard-earned coin went missin'."

Parvis tapped the lead of his pencil on the tip of his tongue and made a note.

"You want me to put a stop to it?" he asked.

"You can tell 'em you know what they're doin', but at this point it ain't hardly even illegal anymore an' our Scot's just a real sneaky errand-boy. Ravs know?"

"Ravs thinks it's damn hilarious, now he knows the full story," Parvis said.

Strife grunted. "Well, then I don't see anythin' needs to be done."

"Time was," Parvis remarked, turning the page of his notebook, "you'd've thrown 'em all in lock-up just for the pleasure of hearin' the door clang."

"I'm tired, Parvis, I ain't got time to fool with harmless idiots."

"I bet you are," Parvis said nastily.

"You got somethin' to say to me, Deputy?"

"Not that's gonna make any damn difference, apparently."

"It's Doc's fault, anyhow."

"I don't give a damn whose fault it is. Now. You manage enough hours sober to think any on what to do 'bout Kirin's cattle gettin' stole?"

Strife sighed. "S'pose somebody's gonna have to talk to them Hopis and find out what they done with the cattle. If they've killed 'em, s'pose we'll have to squeeze some reparations out of 'em."

"We don't even know where they _are,_ Sheriff, how're we gonna talk to 'em?"

"They ain't hard to find, Parvis. I'd bet two dollars Kirin already knows where they shack up at."

Parvis made another note. "They stole another couple last night. Musta known the rain was comin'."

"Don't make it mystic, Parvis, it ain't mystic."

"I ain't makin' anything mystic. Who said anythin' about mystic?"

"You sounded like you was gonna."

"Well, I ain't."

"Good."

Parvis sniffed, then turned another page in his notebook. "Only thing left is all the folks I talked to concernin' our murder."

Strife sat up a little straighter, folding his hands over his stomach.

"Lay it on me," he said.

"Well, first off, I got here a list of everybody who was in town twelve years ago. Asked around with a lot of the old-timers, just about everybody I could get hold of. Ain't a long list."

"Good, means we ain't got a lot of suspects."

"Could be our killer up an' left afterwards."

"If the killer ain't here no more," Strife said, "then why would anybody go diggin' up the bones and leavin' 'em out for folks to find?"

Parvis made a face and shrugged. "All right. We got here: Old Man Peculier, the Prospector, Sjin o'course, Mr. Turps an' his kin, Miss Lomadia—"

"Figures. She have kin?"

"I'm gonna get to that, Sheriff, lemme get through this list first."

"Fine, keep on goin'."

He cleared his throat. "Miss Lomadia, Mr. Xephos, Miss Fiona and Miss Zoey, Miss Minty, Doc Lalna, Daisy White an' her kin—"

 _"Doc Lalna?"_ Strife cried, sitting up. His insides twinged, and he had to lie back down, his head spinning.

"Yeah," Parvis said, looking at him oddly. "He's been here near as long as the town's existed, somethin' on twenty years. Why?"

"Well, y'know, it's funny, Parvis," Strife said, his voice strained from the discomfort of his innards. "On account of yesterday he told me it'd only been nine or ten."

Parvis blinked and looked down at his notes.

"Well, he's lyin', Sheriff," he said. "No less'n five people recall he's been here at _least_ fifteen years."

"Knew he was lyin'," Strife muttered under his breath. _"Knew_ the bastard was lyin' to me."

"There's more to the list, Sheriff," Parvis mentioned.

"Go on, then."

"Ol' Strawfingers and _his_ kin was here. Then there's Sips, that Martyn fella—"

"What Martyn fella?"

"You wouldn't know him, Sheriff, he never so much as looked sideways at a law."

"Hm."

"Then we got ol' Mr. Chaos, Zylus the tailor, and uh. . . ." he stopped, fidgeting.

"Well?"

"And uh, well, Rythian."

Strife watched Parvis for a long moment.

"You expectin' some kind of reaction outta me, Deputy?"

"Huh? No, I ain't—no, Sheriff."

"'Cause it don't warrant a reaction. So Rythian was here. Ain't no more, so I don't know why you put—why you decided—why that particular name's on your list."

"Seemed like a good idea," Parvis mumbled. "Seein' as he's the only murderer we've met so far."

"And these murders ain't Rythian's style. Drop it an' focus on what's happenin' now. Tell me what you found about Lomadia."

Parvis nodded and flipped a couple of pages.

"So, I sorta pieced this together from what a whole buncha folks said. Sort of a . . . an average truth, if y'see what I'm sayin'."

"I do."

"Right. Well, 'parently, Miss Lomadia turned up here outta the blue when she wasn't hardly thirteen, just showed up on the back of a trade wagon all by her lonesome, no folks, no nothin'. No history to speak of, or at least that _she'd_ speak of. Nobody's really sure where she come from, and most folk figgered it didn't much matter, anyhow."

"Uh-huh. So how'd she come to have her own property, an' no real work?"

"See, now that's where it gets into more gossip than anythin' else. Far as I can tell, Mayor Sjin—who weren't mayor yet, but he was gettin' there—he hired her on to work for him. She lived with 'im, even, right up until his _wife_ picked up an' ran off with their son. So then Sjin—who's mayor by then—buys up a li'l patch of land and has somebody build a nice li'l house for Miss Lomadia an' sets her up good an' proper, and far as anybody can tell he's been payin' her expenses to this day."

"Uh- _huh,"_ said Strife. "What kinda work was she doin' for him?"

"Officially, or actually?" Parvis asked.

"She was a damn child, Parvis, even Sjin ain't that twisted."

"You sure? 'Cause his wife packed up an' left without a single word, and I can't think of a whole lotta reasons a woman'd do that, 'specially when there's another, younger woman livin' in the household."

Strife sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Officially, Parvis, what was she doin'?"

The notebook's pages rustled again. There was a sudden silence. Strife cracked open his eyes and looked at Parvis.

"What?" he said.

"Says here . . . nursemaid," he said quietly.

Strife's stomach dropped right into his boots.

"It was an . . . _infant_ child. That his wife _ran off_ with."

"You—you don't know anythin'. We don't _know_ anythin', Sheriff."

"Don't we, Parvis? 'Cause it's startin' to seem real _damning_ that Sjin don't want us lookin' into this case."

"He wouldn't. He _wouldn't._ Sheriff, his own _kin?_ He wouldn't!"

"You got any better ideas, Parvis?"

"I sure do! Lomadia's done _nothin'_ but lie to you since the moment you started lookin' into this, she found the skull, she found the body, she was there at the time, she's scared half to death—"

"You really think a man would set up a cozy life for the woman who _murdered_ his wife an' child? She's blackmailin' him, Parvis, that's all there is to it."

"You don't _know_ that, Sheriff. We got good evidence on Lomadia, a hell of a lot better'n just some—some suspicious coincidences! We don't even know it was Sjin's wife an' child up in them woods, it could be anybody!"

"You don't threaten to _hang_ somebody over a couple stranger's bodies, Parvis. You ever find out what happened to the last sheriff?"

Parvis fumed. He got up and paced the room, worrying the pages of his notebook.

"No," he said at last. "No, I didn't, 'cause nobody knows. He just up an' left one day. Dropped off some kind of note or somethin'. Didn't steal nothin', didn't hurt nobody, didn't put a mark on his character in anyway. Just decided he didn't wanna be sheriff no more and skedaddled. Nobody knows why, nobody even cared to speculate, 'cause he was a damn boring man who didn't make much of an impression. Town decided it didn't need a sheriff, so there weren't one until they called you down here."

"So why'd they call me down here at all?" Strife grumbled.

"'Cause the rail men started comin' in and causin' trouble," Parvis said.

"You'd think somebody in this godforsaken place coulda taken the job."

"Far as I can tell, Sheriff, folks didn't think a sheriff'd be much use. You go six years without one, I guess you get to thinkin' you can handle everythin' yourself."

"You ain't wrong." He sighed. "But it still don't explain it. Maybe somebody put pressure on the man to leave. Put it about that bein' sheriff was a dangerous job, 'specially lookin' into where the mayor's family went."

"You can't _prove—"_

"I don't _have_ to prove, Parvis. I just gotta convince a jury."

"But you don't _know_ he did it. You're puttin' this on him 'cause you don't like the man!"

"You shut your goddamn mouth, 'cause you _know_ that ain't true. Now, tomorrow night, you an' me are gonna have a talk with Nano an' Lomadia. Both of 'em, together. And we're gonna find _out_ what the hell happened twelve years ago, and why somebody's taken it into their head to leave bones on Lomadia's doorstep."

"She's just gonna lie to you, Sheriff, it's all she ever does."

"With that kinda attitude, Parvis, you wouldn't know the truth if it bit you in the ass."

"Would _you?"_

Strife bit back a sharp reply and forced himself to simmer down.

"We're gonna talk to 'em, Parvis. And you be prepared to shoot that Nano woman in the head, 'cause she's bound and determined to kill me, and I ain't gonna let her get away with it if I can help it."

Parvis stared at him.

"What in the _hell_ have you been _doin'_ in here?" he demanded. "Jesus God, Sheriff, why is everybody tryin' to _kill_ you all of a sudden?"

"'Cause it's easy," Strife said. "Dare say plenty of folks've wanted to kill me for a good long while now. Everybody's tryin' to get it done 'fore I'm back on my feet."

Parvis shook his head. "When all this is done with, Sheriff, you an' me are gonna have a long damn talk about makin' yourself less objectionable to folks."

"First I gotta survive it, Parvis."

"That ain't funny, Sheriff."

"Sure it is, Parvis. I got so many folks tryin' to kill me, I can't help but survive."

 


	11. Truth

Strife spent the whole day preparing himself, while Parvis took care of the usual duties. He'd had Doc Lalna send for, as he put it, "his damn deputy."

Doc Lalna frowned. "Wasn't he just here?" he'd asked.

"The _other_ one," Strife had clarified.

Now, Ridge stepped into the room and bowed like a circus performer.

"At your service, Sheriff," he said, grinning.

"Get in here and quit makin' a damn performance outta everything," Strife snapped.

Ridge sauntered to his bedside and stood far too close, looking down on him with glittering eyes.

"Yessir, Sheriff," he murmured.

 _"Quit,"_ Strife said. "How much of a grudge you holdin' against that Nano woman?"

Ridge blinked twice, leaning back slightly. His face pulled into a frown, and he considered the ceiling as he thought.

"You mean that Chinee who sewed me back up after you let me get stabbed? No grudge at all, Sheriff."

"How 'bout if I told you she was tryin' to kill me?"

Ridge grinned a slow, wolfish grin, still looking up at the ceiling.

"Well," he said, "I’d _like_ her a whole lot more, even if we are unfortunately at cross-purposes at the moment."

"You wouldn't let her do it?"

"Most likely not. Not at the present time."

"Good. I'm bringin' her in here tonight to tell me where our―"

"Oh, I know, Sheriff. Parvis already told me the plan."

Strife scowled and ground his teeth.

"Fine. All _you_ gotta do is stand in that corner over there and look like you're gonna shoot her if she tries anythin'."

"Oh, I can do _that,_ Sheriff. I can menace women just fine. I been doin' it all my life. You want me to _actually_ shoot her if she tries anythin'?"

"Would you do it?"

"Most likely not."

"Then I ain't gonna bother tellin' you to. Now get outta here, and come back at sundown."

Ridge stayed right where he was, looking down at Strife. His hand drifted to the stock of his gun and his fingers drummed on its holster.

Strife glared at him. "You gonna shoot me, or what?" he demanded.

"Hm?" said Ridge. "Oh, naw, Sheriff. I'm just thinkin' about how pretty you was, with my gun in your mouth."

Strife’s stomach churned, but he kept his expression firmly set in a scowl.

"Well think about it on your own damn time, I got shit to do."

His eyes narrowed. "Real soon, Sheriff," he said softly, "you're gonna be real glad I enjoy your company so damn much."

"Right now, _Deputy,_ I'm fixin' to take your star if you don't do what I tell you."

Ridge's jaw tightened, but then he relaxed, smiling.

"Whatever you say, Sheriff," he sang, and sauntered from the room.

* * *

 

The sun had set. Strife’s room was dim, lit by only a couple of lanterns. Ridge had wandered in just after sundown and stationed himself in the corner, leaned up against the wall, his thumbs through his belt. Strife had ignored him. Not long after, Parvis had arrived, leading Nano and Lomadia.

Strife gestured to the two chairs by his bedside—he’d had Doc Lalna bring an extra one earlier that afternoon. The doctor himself was elsewhere in the house, attending to his own business.

"Come on in," Strife invited. "Sit down."

"What’s all this about, Sheriff?" Nano asked primly, dropping into one of the chairs. Next to her, Lomadia sat down as though concerned the furniture would explode. Parvis set his back against the opposite wall and folded his arms.

"Oh, I think y'all know good and damn well what this is about," Strife said. He held up a hand as Nano opened her mouth to object. "Now I know y'all ain’t fond of answerin’ questions, so I ain’t gonna ask any. I’m just gonna tell you what I think happened, and y’all correct me if I’m wrong.”

“And if I don’t wanna listen?” Nano asked, folding her arms. Lomadia was staring fixedly at nothing, tears in her eyes, hands clenched on the strap of her purse.

“’Fraid you’re just gonna have to suck it up,” Strife said.

She stood. “’Fraid you’re gonna have to _make_ me,” she challenged. Hurriedly, Lomadia stood as well, eyes darting.

There was the quiet, unmistakeable _click_ of a hammer being cocked. Strife’s spine tingled. Every eye in the room was drawn, inexorably, to Ridge.

He was smiling pleasantly.

“I’d much prefer not to,” he said. His gun was still in its holster at his hip, but his hand was wrapped around the stock. “I’d much prefer if you just sat down and played nice for a bit, Miss Nano.”

“Oh, so I’m a _miss_ now, am I?” she demanded, fire on her breath. Lomadia was hiding behind her.

Ridge grinned. His gold tooth glinted in the half-light.

“I call every woman I’m about to shoot _miss,_ _”_ he said, his tone unchanged.

“Ungrateful li’l shit,” she accused.

“Don’t flatter me, miss, you’re gonna make me blush.”

Nano clenched her jaw, and glared at all the men in the room, and sat back down, settling her purse on her lap. There was another, less threatening _click_ as Ridge uncocked his gun. Trembling, Lomadia made her way back into her chair, as well.

“All _right,_ _”_ Strife said, “if we’re all done threatenin’ each other, I’ll go on and tell y’all why you’re here.”

“Why _you_ think we’re here,” Nano corrected.

“Naw,” said Strife. “Why you’re here.”

He took a slow breath, steadied himself, and laid all his cards on the table.

“Twelve years ago,” he said, “Mayor Sjin’s wife and child was murdered, and y’all been coverin’ it up ever since.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh?” said Nano.

Strife was watching Lomadia. She had gone pale as death, and slow tears were crawling down her cheeks.

“Now,” Strife went on, “here’s what I reckon happened: Lomadia turns up in town, all by her lonesome, lookin’ for work. Sjin—not mayor yet, but lookin’ to be real soon—he takes a shine to her. Now his wife, she don’t much care for this turn of events, ‘specially havin’ a young child around. Was the child born yet, Lomadia?”

She said nothing, but she had started shaking.

“Don’t much matter anyway,” Strife said. “So now Sjin, he starts to think maybe things’d be better if his wife goes away. He says as much, but she thinks the _other_ woman—that’s you—oughtta be the one to go. Now, Sjin takes exception to this, gets to thinkin’: if the woman won’t go, maybe he’s just gonna get rid of her. Get rid of the baby, too, awful damn nuisance, babies. So one night when ain’t nobody around he picks up somethin’ nice and heavy and he beats the _hell_ outta that woman, beats her to death, bashes the child’s head in, too. But now he’s got a coupla corpses on him, so maybe he gets his _new_ woman to help him bury ‘em, the child and the woman—"

“Her name was _Annie!_ _”_ Lomadia burst out.

“Shut the _hell_ up, Lomadia!” Nano snarled, rounding on her.

“No! No, no! I been shut up for twelve years, for twelve _years!_ I ain’t shuttin’ up no more, I ain’t _doin_ _’_ it, I can’t do it no more!”

“He is gonna _hang_ you, you understand me? You _wanna_ hang?”

“I don’t care! Yes, _yes_ I wanna hang, anythin’s better’n stayin’ _quiet_ any damn longer! At least it’ll be over!”

“You stupid woman,” Nano hissed. “You stupid goddamn _idiot_ of a woman.”

Lomadia turned her weeping eyes to Strife.

“I did it,” she said, her voice breaking. “I did it. I killed the baby.”

Strife watched her closely. Nano was fuming, her hands clenched into fists on her bag. Parvis was staring, open-mouthed. Behind Strife, there was only silence from Ridge.

“Well,” Strife said at last, “I think you’d better tell me the whole thing.”

Lomadia glanced at Nano, who threw her hands up.

“Might as well, you already done killed us both!” she cried.

Lomadia bowed her head and sniffled. When she spoke, her voice was soft, heavy with pain.

“I was fifteen,” she said. “No family, no money, no nothin’. Miss Annie, she gave me the job. Mr. Sjin wasn’t never around—he was gettin’ ready to be mayor, and all, and even when he wasn’t, he spent most of his time at Sips’s place. The baby was sick—real sick—an’ she needed somebody to look after it. At nights, or just so she could sleep. It didn’t never stop cryin’. Doc Lalna was in an’ out all day an’ night, but it didn’t never help. Baby just kept on cryin’, all the damn time. She was—Miss Annie was—she was scared she’d . . . hurt it. She was scared she’d get mad an’ . . . an’ hurt it. So she got me to come in and look after it when . . . y’know, when she couldn’t. I lived with ‘em, they fed me, all that, just for lookin’ after that baby that wouldn’t stop cryin’.”

Her hands were white-knuckled on the strap of her purse. She was shivering. Tears were still rolling down her face, endless.

“I was only there for a month. Only a month of the damn thing cryin’ day and night. I—I never meant to hurt it. I never _meant_ to hurt it, only it just wouldn’t stop _cryin_ _’_ _,_ an’ it wasn’t like I—I done nothin’, I just wanted it to shut _up_ _—"_

“The baby’s head was bashed in,” Strife said quietly. “You mean to tell me, you didn’t _mean_ to hurt it?”

“I ain’t _done_ that!” Lomadia wailed. “I just—I just shook him, just a li’l, I didn’t think it would _hurt_ him none—but then he stopped cryin’ an’ I just _knew,_ I just _knew._ An’ then—an’ then Miss Annie came a-runnin’ in ‘cause _she_ knew, too, an’ she saw what I’d done an’ she started _screamin_ _’_ an’ _screamin_ _’_ and then Mr. Sjin came runnin’ in and he saw her—he saw her with the baby—with the baby all dead and he—and he—"

She collapsed into herself, sobbing. Nano put a hand on her back.

“He beat her to death with the firepoker, Sheriff,” Nano finished. Her voice was as cold as a mountaintop in winter.

“I was so scared,” Lomadia whimpered, hands over her face. “I couldn’t say nothin’, I couldn’t do nothin’, I was so scared—so scared he was gonna kill me, too—I couldn’t _say_ nothin’, I couldn’t tell him she hadn’t done it ‘cause he woulda killed me, too—"

“What happened then?” Strife asked.

Lomadia sniffled, pulling herself together somewhat.

“Then . . . then he looked at me an’ he said: You ever tell anybody about this, I’m gonna kill you, too. You take these bodies an’ you bury ‘em good. I’m gonna make sure you won’t ever go hungry, but you gotta bury these bodies. And you tell anybody _ever_ and I’ll kill you. That’s what he said. An’ then he just . . . walked out. Walked out like there wasn’t blood all over him and he hadn’t just. . . .”

“She came to me,” Nano said. “We’d known each other for a while, seein’ as I was still workin’ for Doc back then. Told me everythin’. I told her I’d help, and I did. We rolled ‘em both up in the carpet they was killed on. I rented a cart from them stable girls. Never told ‘em what for, but there’s only so many things a person can be doin’ with a cart in the middle of the damn night. They musta known, ‘cause they never did ask me to pay. So Lomadia an’ me, we took them bodies up way out into the hills and we buried ‘em, and that was damn well _it_ for twelve goddamn years.”

“You didn’t tell nobody?” Strife asked. “You didn’t go to the sheriff?”

“Hell no,” Nano spat. “We was a coupla fifteen-year-old girls. Wasn’t nobody gonna believe us if we said the mayor’d killed his family.”

“You had the bodies,” Strife pointed out.

“And Lomadia was damn libel to tell the whole damn story to anybody who so much as _looked_ at her sideways,” Nano retorted. “Nobody’d _believe_ us, Sheriff, ‘specially not ol’ Lightfoot, who couldn’t give two _shits_ about what a teenage girl thought she’d saw. And then word’d get out that we’d told and we’d _both_ be dead. So _no,_ Sheriff, we didn’t tell nobody.”

“So what happened to Sheriff Lightfoot? Parvis tells me he just up and left.”

“He did,” Nano said. “He was a damn coward like the rest of ‘em. Sjin said we didn’t need no sheriff and I guess ol’ Lightfoot agreed.”

Strife took a moment to digest this.

“So why now?” he asked. “Twelve years this’s all been buried, why now?”

“’Cause you ran Rythian outta town,” Nano answered promptly.

 _“_ _Nano,_ _”_ Lomadia said, something perjorative in her tone.

“What? It’s true. Rythian was killin’ folks the law wouldn’t touch. Folks got the damn _message,_ Sheriff. That justice was gonna get _done._ S’pose somebody decided to pick up where she left off, only they’re a goddamn coward an’ thought leavin’ bones around was gonna do the trick. You know she was gonna kill Sjin for us, before you ran her off? She was gonna kill him like he deserved. I told her the whole thing, and god _damn_ was she ever gonna kill him.”

“She woulda killed Lomadia, too,” Strife pointed out. “Even if it wasn’t on purpose, Rythian wouldn’t abide the death of a child.”

“Yeah, well she didn’t _know,_ _”_ Nano said. “I didn’t tell her, ‘cause Lomadia ain’t guilty of nothin’. You ain’t gonna hang her, Sheriff. I _know_ you ain’t.”

“Why come to me?” Strife asked, ignoring this last outburst. “Why bring me into this, why not just hide the bones, work it out on y’all’s own?”

Lomadia sniffled again. “I did, at first. When the skull first showed up. I . . . I got spooked, I went to check, y’know, on Annie and the baby. Somebody’d dug ‘em up, taken the baby’s body. I . . . I panicked, I took Annie’s head an’ hid it in my bag, then I started screamin’ so the Prospector’d come find me.”

“Why? Why take the head?”

“I—I dunno, Sheriff, I was scared, I didn’t know _what_ to do.”

“It was my idea to take the whole thing to you,” Nano said. “She came and asked me what to do, I told her we’d let you figger out who was leavin’ the bones and then we’d kill the both of you. We didn’t figger you’d catch on about Sjin.”

“You was gonna _kill_ me?” Strife said.

“You wasn’t gonna leave it alone otherwise,” she said. “You was gonna keep diggin’‘til you found a reason to hang Lomadia.”

“And what were y’all plannin’ on doin’ about Sjin?”

“Oh, we was gonna kill him, too, once you was outta the way. We just had to know who else knew.”

Strife ground his teeth.

“Parvis,” he said. “Would you bring Doc Lalna in here, please?”

Parvis nodded, pushed himself off the wall, and walked out.

The other four remained in silence until he returned. He went back to his place against the wall, and Doc Lalna stopped in the center of his room, tugging at his shirt. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two women and Strife. He was sweating.

“Somethin’ you needed, Sheriff?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Yeah,” said Strife. “I was just wonderin’ if you had anythin’ to say to Lomadia.”

Lalna’s eyes darted. He gulped. He fidgeted. He took in Strife’s expression, the women’s postures; Ridge standing in the corner with that wolfish grin on his face.

His demeanor changed. The nervousness evaporated, and his face went dark and hard.

“No,” he said, his eyes fixed on Lomadia. “I think I got the message across already.”

Nano shot to her feet, her hand diving into her bag; Lalna leapt back, hands raised in shock and fear; and there was that quiet _click_ from Ridge’s corner again.

Everyone froze.

“Now,” Ridge said quietly. “I know what you got in that bag, miss, and I think you an’ me both know what’s gonna happen if you take it out. So I think it’s best you just pull your hand out real slow-like and set that bag on the floor.”

“Since when are you on _his_ side?” Nano snarled. She was vibrating with fury.

“Oh, I ain’t on anyone’s _side,_ _”_ Ridge assured her. “It’s just, if you shoot Doc, Sheriff’s gonna have to hang you, and then there won’t be _nobody_ around to stitch me up in the event I get stabbed again. Whereas, if I shoot you now, there’s at least one doctor left in this town. Only reason I ain’t done it yet is ‘cause you’re less libel to be drunk than he is.”

“And if I shoot him anyways?”

“What in the hell makes you think I’m gonna let you shoot him?” Ridge inquired pleasantly.

Slowly, Nano withdrew her hand from the bag. She crouched down and placed the bag on the floor.

“Kick it on over to Parvis,” Ridge said.

Nano put her toes against the bag and shoved it. It slid across the floor. Parvis leaned down and picked it up.

“Over to you, Sheriff,” Ridge said, holstering his gun.

Strife watched him for a long moment, then, grudgingly, nodded. He turned his attention back to the others.

“Doc,” he said. “You wanna tell me why it is you been diggin’ up bones and leavin’‘em on people’s doorsteps?”

“What, you ain’t sheriffed your way through that one, too?” Lalna sneered.

“I got some guesses,” Strife said. “You wanna hear ‘em?”

“I know _exactly_ why he did it,” Nano snapped. “It’s ‘cause he’s a damn coward. Where in the _hell_ were you?”

He raised his hands again. “Nano—"

“Twelve _goddamn_ years, where in the _hell_ were you? You knew, all this _fuckin_ _’_ time, you _knew,_ and you didn’t raise a damn _finger_ to help us—"

“There wasn’t nothin’ I could do!”

“Oh, so you thought diggin’ up bones was the way to do it? You thought Lomadia was the one needed remindin’? Why you ain’t go after Sjin, huh? Why you ain’t go after the _killer?_ _”_

“She murdered a baby!”

“It was an accident!”

 _“_ _I was there!_ _”_

Nano stared at him.

“I was _there,_ that night,” he went on. “I was _there_ when the baby stopped cryin’. I was _there_ when Annie started screamin’.”

“So you _musta_ been there when Sjin _beat her to death!_ _”_ Nano snarled.

Lalna’s jaw clenched. He looked away.

“What Sjin done . . . it ain’t forgivable, and I don’t intend to forgive him.” He turned burning eyes on Lomadia. “But I don’t intend to forgive _her,_ neither.”

Head bowed, Lomadia was crying quietly.

“So what, you decided you was gonna dig up old bones and scare her into talkin’?” Nano said.

“No,” said Lalna. “I was gonna _guilt_ her into talkin’. And it worked, didn’t it? Sheriff knows everythin’, now, he knows what you done. I done my duty. Now y’all are gonna have justice, _real_ justice, just like y’all deserve.”

“Doc,” Strife said quietly. “What, in all the goddamn hell, makes you think I ain’t gonna _hang_ your _grave-robbin_ _’_ _ass_ just to watch you fuckin’ _swing?_ _”_

He was yelling by the end, so loudly it was making the windows hum. Lalna gawped at him.

“I—I ain’t done nothin’ wrong—" he started.

“You been an accomplice to _murder_ for twelve goddamn years!” Strife cried. “And you ain’t never _said_ nothin’? You ain’t never came to me? You thought diggin’ up the bones of _children_ was how justice was s’posed to be done?”

“Sheriff,” Parvis said.

“Shut the hell up, Parvis,” he snapped, before turning back to Lalna. “Any time— _any_ time these past six years—you coulda told me. You coulda shown me the grave, you coulda told me what happened. You coulda helped these women and instead, you chose to desecrate the remains of an innocent mother an’ child. Why, Lalna? Give me one goddamn reason.”

Lalna swallowed, and fidgeted, and hung his head.

“Because I’m a coward, Sheriff,” he mumbled.

“You’re goddamn _right_ you are,” Strife said. The fire on his breath was burning his teeth.

Outside, a steady rain began to fall, rising to a downpour in the space of a few breaths.

“What now?” Lomadia asked quietly.

Strife sat, and fumed, and thought.

“Parvis,” he said, “Ridge, y’all go on home.”

 _“_ _What?_ _”_ Parvis cried. Ridge threw back his head and laughed.

“You heard me,” Strife said.

“No! Why even—"

“Naw, c’mon, Parvis,” Ridge said, strolling over to him and putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. “We gotta do what the Sheriff says.”

“Ridge, you can’t—"

Ridge’s eyes flashed in the room’s dim light.

“I _can_ _’_ _t,_ Parvis?” he asked.

Parvis looked away. Without a further word, Ridge led him out, one hand on his shoulder the whole way.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Strife sighed.

“Most days,” he said, “I’d throw all three of y’all in lockup, and Sjin too, and I’d let a jury decide what to do with you.”

“You ain’t gonna do a goddamn _thing_ to Lomadia,” Nano told him. Even with the contents of her bag far out of her grasp, Strife wasn’t certain she couldn’t kill him anyway.

“Stop it, Nano,” Lomadia said quietly. “It’s over. It’s all over. It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“What’re you gonna do, Sheriff?” Lalna asked.

He licked his lips and steadied his nerves.

“I can’t hang Sjin,” he said. “Y’all understand me? I _can_ _’_ _t_ hang Sjin. Any jury I pull together is gonna be in his pocket, somehow. Even if it ain’t, he’s gonna bog down the process so long that the election’ll roll around ‘fore we actually get to hangin’ him, and then Kirin’ll be sheriff and I’ll be a dead man walkin’. Lomadia’ll either have to run like hell or stay here an’ wait for him to kill her. Doc’s gonna have a helluva time keepin’ his bit secret, and so’re you, Nano. Now by my count, that’s three deaths on my conscience, plus my own. Y’all understandin’ me? _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ hang Sjin. But I don’t intend to hang any of y’all three, either.”

Lomadia was just staring at her hands. Doc Lalna was frowning.

Nano stood tall, like an avenging angel, the wrath of heaven in her eyes.

“I understand you, Sheriff,” she said. “Get up, Lomadia. We’re goin’ home.”

She helped Lomadia to her feet. The two of them left. Outside, thunder growled, and the rain kept pouring down.

“Mayor have stairs in his house?” Strife asked casually, though he felt at any moment that the tar in his stomach was going to come frothing out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” said Lalna.

“How’d you know where to find the bodies?”

“Lomadia visited every year on the anniversary. One time I followed her.”

Strife nodded. “Why now?”

“’Cause whoever was killin’ guilty folks is gone. ‘Cause the anniversary was last month. ‘Cause you ain’t gonna be sheriff much longer, and if figurin’ it all out killed you, it wasn’t such a huge loss, ‘cause Kirin was prob’ly gonna run you outta town anyways.”

“Uh-huh. You stick that baby’s skull back together?”

“I did.”

“S’pose it got all busted up like that while Sjin was beatin’ his wife to death.”

“Mighta done. Dunno. Didn’t see it.”

Strife chewed his cheek.

“Twelve years,” he said, “and you ain’t said a word.”

“Started drinkin’, though,” Lalna said, as though it helped. “Sent Nano off ‘cause I wasn’t sure I could keep it from her. I ain’t even know she knew up ‘til you dragged it all up into the light.”

 _“_ _You_ dragged it all up into the light,” Strife pointed out. “You set fire to the mayor’s house, too?”

“No, sir.”

“And I’m s’posed to believe that?”

Lalna gave a wan smile.

“Sheriff, if you ain’t gonna lock me up for grave robbin’, blackmail, and hushin’ up a murder for twelve years, I know you ain’t gonna lock me up for arson. If I’d done it, I wouldn’t have no reason to lie about it.”

“Hm,” said Strife. “Prob’ly Nano, then.”

“Naw,” said Lalna. “She’d’ve just poisoned his coffee or somethin’. The house ain’t never done nothin’ to her.”

Rain roared, and thunder rumbled. Strife shut his eyes and sighed.

“You got any of that rye left over?” he asked.

“Sure do, Sheriff. Near on half a bottle.”

“Bring me it.”

Lalna did not argue.

Strife finished the bottle.


	12. Reputation

Strife went home in the morning. Walking was too painful to consider, so Parvis pushed him around in one of Doc Lalna's wheeled chairs that he kept around in case someone broke a leg.

"I can push it myself," Strife grumbled, as Parvis rolled him homewards.

"Oh, can you?" he asked. "Thought doin' your arms like that'd hurt you just as bad as walkin'."

"Well, I ain't _tried_ it yet, so I don't know."

"You wanna try it, Sheriff?"

"Not out here in the damn street."

They got back to Strife's house; Parvis helped him out of the chair and up the two steps to his front door, then dragged the chair up after him. The door closed on the outside world.

Without warning or preamble, Strife took Parvis's face in his hands and kissed him. Parvis wrapped his arms around Strife's waist, leaning into him, his breath hot and his lips sweet and his body warm as a summer evening. Strife melted against him, drinking him like sweet ambrosia, his knees threatening to go out from under him. Parvis's hair was soft, and the stubble on his chin was coarse, and if it hadn't been for the insistent pain in Strife's side there was no telling how much farther he would have gone before he broke off and hid his face in Parvis's shoulder.

"I missed you," he mumbled, half-hoping Parvis wouldn't hear him.

Parvis slid a hand up between Strife's shoulder-blades and squeezed him.

"Aw, Sheriff," he said. "I missed me, too."

Strife snorted and kicked him in the shin, not hard. Parvis sucked in a breath through his teeth and listed to one side.

"Ow, oh, now you gone and broke my leg," he said. "I ain't never gonna walk again, Sheriff, you're gonna have to push me around in that damn chair for the rest of my natural-born life."

"Tell you what, I'll push you right off a cliff an' put you outta your misery."

"Don't intend to be miserable, Sheriff, I just intend to be pushed around in a chair for the rest of my natural-born life."

"I'll find some ki-yote to take care of you. Best to have family lookin' after you anyhow."

"Harr harr. I'd call in _your_ family to look after you, but everybody knows prickly pears can't push no chair around."

Strife nipped his neck. Parvis squeaked and jumped.

"Sorry," Strife said. "Still got some spines on me, I s'pose."

"I'm gonna put you on a spit an' roast you, then they'll all fall off," Parvis said.

"Then you gonna eat me, Parvis?"

"If you want, Sheriff."

The blush started in his toes and rose like smoke all the way to the top of his head.

"I—well I—" he stammered.

Parvis squeezed him again. "Sorry, Sheriff, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"N-no, it's uh. . . ." He stopped, cleared his throat. It was a good thing he was still snuggled into Parvis's shoulder, because there was no way he could have said what he wanted to Parvis's face.

"Think I'd like that," he mumbled.

Parvis drew in a long, slow breath.

"You sure, Sheriff?" he asked.

Strife coughed again. "Uh. Yeah," he said.

Parvis whooped.

"Hot damn!" he cried, and scooped Strife up in his arms, and carried him to bed like a blushing bride.

* * *

 

Two days later, Parvis walked into the office looking like all his flesh had been turned to wood.

"Mayor's dead," he said, almost sourly, throwing his hat onto his desk before throwing himself into his chair.

Strife stared at him. Ridge, at his makeshift desk in the corner, broke out into a grin.

"He got any desks he ain't willed to nobody?" Ridge asked.

"Shut up," Strife said.

"Ain't neither of y'all _liked_ the man, you don't gotta pretend to be busted up about him bein' dead."

"Shut _up,_ Ridge," Parvis said, glaring at his desk.

"Tell me to shut up again," Ridge invited brightly. "Go on, Parvis, _tell_ me to shut up again."

Simultaneously, Parvis and Strife both snapped, _"Shut up."_

Ridge raised his hands in surrender and went back to his dwindling pile of paperwork.

"What happened?" Strife asked Parvis.

"Why don't you tell _me?"_ Parvis demanded, lifting his glare to point it at Strife.

"I don't _know,_ Parvis, on account of I didn't know he was _dead_ 'til you walked in here."

Parvis chewed his lip, then huffed out a breath.

"Maid says he fell down the stairs," he said. "Broke his neck."

"S'pose he fell down the stairs, then," Strife said, keeping his eyes carefully on his paperwork.

"About sixteen times, by the look of him," Parvis retorted. "They _killed_ him, Sheriff. You know damn well Nano an' Lomadia an' Doc killed him."

"I don't know any such thing," Strife said.

"You put 'em _up_ to it, didn't you?" Parvis demanded, raising his voice. Strife heard the floorboards creak as he stood. "You knew they wouldn't do it if they thought you'd arrest 'em! You _killed_ that man, Sheriff!"

"When'd he die, Parvis?" Strife asked, keeping his voice low, his gaze lowered.

"Last night," Parvis said, through clenched teeth.

"Then I'd say I've got a pretty damn good alibi, on account of everybody and his brother saw me drinkin' myself sick at Minty's until damn near dawn."

"You _set_ this _up,"_ Parvis growled. "You _wanted_ them to kill him, and now you ain't even gonna acknowledge they done it! You ain't even gonna admit he was killed!"

"He wasn't killed, Parvis," Strife said quietly. "He fell down the stairs and broke his neck."

"Who the fuck _are_ you?" Parvis screamed. Something smashed.

"I'm gonna go see about—" Ridge began.

_"You_ sit the fuck back down," Parvis snarled. "All that goddamn drink's gone to your brain, Sheriff. If I can even _call_ you that anymore."

"So long as you're my deputy," Strife said coolly.

"Don't see why _you're_ so het up about this," Ridge remarked. Strife could almost _hear_ him putting his feet on what passed for his desk.

"'Cause it's _wrong,_ and I'm a damn lawman!"

"Yeah?" Ridge asked. "Since when?"

_"Both_ of y'all can go to hell," Parvis spat. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Floorboards creaked. Strife glanced up just in time to see Ridge sit down at Parvis's desk and kick his feet up onto it.

"You happy?" Strife demanded.

"Not so much as you'd think, Sheriff," Ridge said. "But I'm gettin' there. He ran off with your last bottle of whiskey, didn't he. Saw the puddle where he poured it out."

"That ain't none of your business," Strife said.

"Prob'ly not," Ridge allowed. "Look in your whiskey drawer."

Strife eyed him for a long moment, then leaned over and opened the bottom left drawer of his desk.

In it was a big glass bottle of clear liquid. There was a red ribbon tied around the neck of the bottle.

"Got you a present," Ridge said. "Sort of an apology type of thing. Not sure if you're a gin sorta man, but at least you won't smell like whiskey no more."

Strife straightened up and glared at him some more.

"Why?" he asked.

Ridge's smile could have cut steel.

"Told you, didn't I? I like my sheriffs drunk."

"And supposin' I take your li'l _present_ and bash it over your head?"

He sucked his teeth. "That'd be a damn waste of gin, Sheriff. Got you a li'l flask, too. Up under there."

Strife moved the bottle aside. The _flask_ was more of a canteen.

_"Why?"_ he asked again.

"Oh, 'cause I think it's funny to screw around with Parvis's stuff. He thinks you're his, so I thought, what the hell."

"I don't want your damn presents," Strife said.

"Right now, maybe," Ridge said. "You just wait 'til Parvis convinces every bartender in town to stop sellin' you liquor."

"And what's Parvis gonna do when he finds out you been pushin' it on me anyway?"

Ridge grinned a dazzling grin and wiggled his feet.

"Not a damn thing, Sheriff," he crowed.

* * *

 

The crowd started gathering in the late afternoon, and by the time the sun was down over a hundred people were standing outside the sheriff's office, muttering amongst themselves, carrying torches and lanterns.

Parvis banged open the door and slammed it behind him. He threw the bolt across and put his back to the door. His eyes were wide, his breath coming short.

"What?" Strife said. Carefully, he pushed the bottom left drawer on his desk closed with his toe.

"It's Kirin," Parvis said. He was pale. "He told damn near everybody he was gonna come make you step down tonight. Damn near half the town's showed up, and they ain't happy, Sheriff."

"God dammit," Strife grumbled. He got to his feet, wincing. Parvis darted to his side and Strife waved him off, mostly so he wouldn't smell the gin on his breath.

"You can't go out there," Parvis said urgently. "They'll tear you to shreds, Sheriff. Kirin ain't playin' around."

"Oh, I think our Sheriff can handle one li'l cowboy," Ridge said easily. He was still sitting at Parvis's desk. "Ain't no reason for it to end in violence."

"You ain't gonna _do_ it?" Parvis cried, gawping at Strife. "Sheriff, he'll _hang_ us, all three!"

"I don't intend to step down, no," Strife said.

Outside, the crowd went quiet. All three men turned their eyes to the door.

_"Strife!"_ came the call, deep and resounding, slow as a molasses flood. "I know you's in there!"

Strife sighed and hobbled to the door. Parvis fluttered at his elbow. Ridge got up and hopped over the desk. Strife took his hat down from the hook and jammed it on his head.

"You _can't_ go out there," Parvis said. "It's a goddamn _mob,_ Sheriff, they are gonna _kill_ you."

"They ain't gonna do any damn such thing, Parvis," Strife declared. He unbolted the door. He heard the murmur spread through the crowd outside.

"'Sides," Ridge remarked, "the first six fellas who try to come up them steps are gettin' one right between the eyes."

"Shut up," Strife said, "and keep your damn gun to yourself."

He pushed open the door and stepped out. He moved with purpose, though it hurt like hell to walk normally with the wound in his side. He kept his face wooden, looking out over the assembled crowd.

Kirin stood at their head, a couple yards from the office's steps. Nano stood just behind his left shoulder, her eyes alight with hellfire. She met Strife's gaze and the corner of her mouth turned up.

"Kirin," Strife began, feigning mild annoyance. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

Kirin lifted his head. There was a shotgun slung across his back.

"I'm here to demand you step down from sheriffin'," he declared. "Town's gone lawless. First you let that killer get away back last April—"

Strife went cold. His mind spun, awash in liquor and making no progress. Nano's face was devilish in the light of the torches.

"—and now the mayor's done been murdered and you ain't so much as batted an eye," Kirin went on. "You's a drunk, you's got outlaws a-workin' for ya, and I done had enough. We _all_ done had enough."

Something sharp and nasty came bubbling up in Strife's chest. Whatever had been holding it in must have been dissolved by the gin.

"Well, Kirin, if you dislike how I keep my law, you're damn welcome to try an' take it from me come election-time. It's only a couple months away, sure you'll have figgered out how to sign your name by then."

"I ain't _waitin',"_ Kirin snarled. "You step on down _now,_ Strife. I ain't gonna ask you again."

Strife raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips.

"All right, Kirin, you want the job so bad, you can have it," he said.

_"What?"_ Parvis hissed.

_"Over my dead body,"_ Strife finished, his lip curling.

Ridge sucked his teeth and winced.

Kirin's face had gone hard as rock. He reached over his shoulder and brought his shotgun around.

"If that's what it takes," he said, and cocked both barrels.

"Sheriff," Parvis warned. He was backing away.

"He ain't gonna shoot you, Sheriff," Ridge murmured, leaning over to speak into his ear. "Look at the man. He ain't gonna shoot you."

The crowd had moved away from Kirin. Even Nano had faded back into the mass of bodies. Kirin stood alone, illuminated by torchlight, stalwart as a statue.

"I'm gone give you 'til the count of three," he said, "to take that star off your chest."

"Look at him, Sheriff," Ridge said. "You scare him like you did that li'l Toby kid, he'll drop his gun an' go runnin'. You been drinkin', maybe you can't see it, but I can."

"One," Kirin said.

Strife's fingers drifted to the stock of his gun.

"Just pop his hat off," Ridge said. "He'll run like a rabbit."

_"Two,"_ said Kirin, sighting down the barrels.

"Just remember you aim high when you been drinkin'," Ridge mentioned. "Wouldn't want you to hit nobody on accident."

"Thr—"

Strife drew and fired, moving so fast his intoxicated brain couldn't keep up with his body. After that, it all happened slowly, like a dream.

The report of the gun, deafening.

Kirin's head snapping back, the shotgun roaring fire up into the sky.

The body toppling over, throwing up clouds of dust.

The screaming.

Strife found himself hauled bodily back inside. His ears were ringing, so loud he couldn't hear anything else. There was a hand on his arm. He sat on the floor.

"I killed him," he whispered, staring ahead at nothing. His whole body felt like a spring, wound tight, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"Oh god _damn,_ Sheriff, did you ever!" Ridge cried, delighted. _"Pow!_ Right between the eyes! Tell you what, ain't _nobody_ gonna run against you now!"

"I . . . _killed_ him," he croaked. He was shaking. The gin was curdling in his stomach.

"And to think, I thought you needed _help_ fixin' up your reputation. God _damn,_ Sheriff!"

The door slammed open, then slammed closed again. Parvis stormed in, breathless and disheveled.

"What the _fuck_ are we s'posed to do now?" he snarled.

"I don't—" Strife began.

"I wasn't _talkin'_ to you!" Parvis snapped.

"Now?" Ridge said. "Well _now,_ Parvis, we do what we set out to do, and we _run_ this goddamn town."

"There is a goddamn _mob_ outside," Parvis hissed, advancing on Ridge. "And you tell me _we_ are gonna run _anything?"_

"Go out and shoot a couple of 'em," Ridge recommended. "They'll go home real quick after that."

Strife sat in slow-rising horror, sinking into the tar of it. Parvis cursed vehemently and threw the door open again.

Six shots barked out. The door thudded home in its frame.

"How many'd you get?" Ridge asked.

"None," Parvis snapped. "I wasn't aimin' for nobody."

Ridge sucked his teeth and shook his head.

"I leave you alone for five li'l years, and you get soft on me," he said. "I _am_ disappointed, Parvis."

"Maybe if you hadn't gotten your damn self _arrested,_ I wouldn't've had to play lawman for so goddamn long!" Parvis retorted.

_"Play?"_ Strife croaked.

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Sheriff."

"You ain't gotta be rude to the man, Parvis," Ridge said. "He ain't had a good day."

"You shut the fuck up, too."

"Sheriff's been rubbin' off on you in more ways'n one, I see," Ridge remarked. "Case you forgot, Parvis: you don't tell me to shut up. Matter of fact, you don't tell me to do _nothin'._ Now reload and go make sure ain't no stragglers tryin' to burn this shithole down."

In fuming silence, Parvis obeyed. Ridge squatted down next to Strife and touched his cheek. Strife couldn't even find the strength to turn his head away.

"It's been a long damn time comin', Sheriff," Ridge murmured. "You ain't ever been in prison, I'm sure. It ain't fun. I ain't fond of it. Had me a _good_ time breakin' out, though. Found me a real sweet lady, specializes in makin' out fake pardons. Oh, it cost me near on two thousand dollars, but damn if it wasn't worth it."

"I _killed_ him," Strife said. The alcohol was sour on his breath.

Ridge sighed. "Don't you worry none, Sheriff. It gets easier." He grinned. "First murder's always the hardest."

Something inside Strife cracked. His shaking redoubled.

The door opened and closed. Parvis sighed.

"They're all gone," he said.

Ridge stood up, dusting off his hands.

"Good! Well, Sheriff, it's been a real pleasure workin' with you—you have just absolutely been a _delight—_ but unfortunately we're gonna have to hang you in the mornin'."

Strife said nothing, moved none.

"Ain't nothin' personal," Ridge went on. "It's just, if Parvis here is gonna be Sheriff, well, we gotta get folks to trust us again, y'see? And you're a murderer, so we gotta hang you. Helps any, you're the third sheriff we pulled this on, so don't beat yourself up _too_ bad for not cottonin' on sooner."

He nodded, slowly. It was better that way. At least it'd be over.

"But I mean this most sincerely, Sheriff: it has been a damn pleasure, and I _am_ gonna miss you. I'll see to it you die when they drop you, wouldn't want you to just choke to death up there, with your legs all kickin' and your eyes all buggin' out—"

"Ridge," Parvis said, and there was dread thick in his voice.

Ridge grinned, brighter and sharper than the edge of a knife.

"Parvis," he said lightly, "I do believe you're gonna tell me not to kill this man."

Parvis sniffed. "And if I am?"

"Well, Parvis, you'd better go on and tell me why, 'cause I got a feelin' it is gonna be a _doozie."_

He cleared his throat. The floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight.

"It's just . . . they ain't gonna trust us anyhow, not with your reputation and me havin' shot at 'em—"

"That ain't never stopped us before, Parvis," Ridge pointed out. The brightness in his voice was bordering on manic.

"I—well I—it ain't like he's gonna cause us any trouble, is he? Look at him, he's busted all to hell, he's a drunk, he ain't gonna be in the way—"

"Still ain't seein' a reason not to kill him, Parvis," Ridge chirped. "Still ain't seein' why you're wastin' my time tryin' to spare a useless drunk, Parvis! Maybe you'd better tell me the goddamn truth, Parvis!"

"I—I—" Parvis stammered, then sighed.

"You? You?" Ridge prompted.

"I . . . love him," Parvis mumbled.

Ridge burst out laughing.

"That's _all_ I was waitin' on, Parvis. Fine, you keep your pet Sheriff. Ain't like I can't find a use for him. Ain't no better criminal than a straight man gone crooked. Oh, but just one thing first."

His boots clicked on the floor. He crouched in front of Strife, took his face in both hands, and kissed him, roughly, cruelly. He pushed him over when he was done, and Strife lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with tears crawling down into his ears.

"What's yours is mine, Parvis," Ridge said quietly. "And if you wanna keep him, you're gonna share him."

There was a long moment of silence. Parvis, when he spoke, sounded smaller than he ever had before.

"Yessir," he said, "partner."

 

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 


End file.
